


Centuries and Centuries

by marbletopempire



Series: Centuries and Centuries [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, Canon Backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, First Person but don't let that scare you, M/M, Minor Character Death, POV Alternating, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Sex, Unapologetically Sexy, people keep telling me it's well done
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-11-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:08:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 41
Words: 102,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25712575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marbletopempire/pseuds/marbletopempire
Summary: All of this scared me. Yusuf scared me. He scared me with his easy repudiation of my beliefs, his laughter, the way he looked at me, the things he made me think. My belief in God scared me too, standing as it did on shaking legs. I had suffered for Him and suffering should have proven my love, but it never made anything better. But who was I, if I was not a God-fearing man? What would I become?If you will not die, why continue to suffer?I stopped walking and sat in the grass, looking out at the mountains as the moon and clouds cast dark shadows upon them. Beautiful and unknowable, like…“Like God,“ I muttered to myself. But of course I really meant, like Yusuf.______No longer a work in progress.  Now just a work.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Centuries and Centuries [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2003758
Comments: 447
Kudos: 688





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Notes updated 8/15:
> 
> This fic has morphed into The Erotic Romance Novel I Always Tried to Write, except with two immortal male characters from a movie. So it goes.
> 
> Kudos and comments are so, so appreciated. (I always saw that on other fan-fiction posts and was like, sure, sure, who wouldn't want to know people like what you're doing, but it really is outrageously motivating and gratifying to see people's responses to what I'm putting out there.) So, if you like it, please tell me. This is shameless, but...whatever, you know? Fuck it.
> 
> Alright, enough from me. Hope you enjoy.

**Nicolo**

The day we saw Jerusalem, I fell to my knees and wept. It was an overwhelming feeling, perhaps overwrought too, no doubt brought on by the months of hardship, pain, and death, but it felt cleansing in its own way. _If only Father could see me now,_ I thought.

“That so desolate a place could be the city of God,” Alessandro murmured, making the sign of the cross.

I said nothing, looking at my hands on the ground, touching the holy dirt of the holy land.

“Come along, Nicolo.” Alessandro gently squeezed my shoulder. “We must make camp. There will be time enough to marvel, after."

* * *

That night under the brilliant stars of the dry hard-packed land, God’s army was quiet. The boisterous evenings were of the past now, hushed by our arrival to the city, after so much time spent traveling. It seemed to me as if the breath of thousands of men was being held in silent contemplation of what was to come. For many of us the coming days would host our day of judgment, and who among us had not killed to get here? Who among us was without sin? It had been a hard road, and desperation can make monsters of even the gentlest of men.

I sat in front of a merrily crackling fire and looked out over the field of my fellow man and thought, _None of us merits salvation_. _God might grant mercy by saving some, but would surely show justice in condemning most._

I sighed, fidgeted, tried to remind myself to not be so quick to judge. _You may well be one of those condemned, Nicolo. Heaven will surely spit you back out, for all you have become._

I was not kind to myself, then. Not kind to anyone. I had started my journey east as a softhearted priest, sure of God’s love even as I saw so little divine mercy, for I had been blessed with so much, but now the fire reflected in my eyes, and I was as cynical and wrathful as Cain.

I cast my fiery eye to Alessandro, my last remaining friend. He lay to my left, on his back, for all appearances sleeping like a babe. He was entirely still, barely making a sound except for the soft exhalations of his even breathing. I envied him – another sin – for the quietness in his head, for the kindness he still showed in his actions. Kindness, calmness – those were things lost to me.

I lay down on my bedroll and closed my eyes.

 _Tomorrow approaches. Though your softness is gone, you are now the hard-edged sword of God, and soon you shall cut down any who lay between you and your destiny_.

Ah, how right I was, but how little I knew.

* * *

I awoke with a start the morning of our final assault, but did not immediately rouse myself. I lay there with my eyes closed, trying to hold onto the fast-fading dream of shedding my skin as a snake would. Though it had been horrible to behold, it had been strangely comforting as well, and I wished to remember it. My dreams had become veiled, fragmented things since arriving to the camp, full of the brightest darkness, or the darkest light, I never knew. Always, though, the feeling of desperately reaching out to something that was powerfully and beautifully repulsive, but necessary.

I sighed as the dream left me, and sat up. It was just past dawn, and the camp was stirring. Men yawned and stretched, sitting and eating or standing and pissing.

 _This is your last morning as yourself, Nicolo Di Genova._ The thought startled me, coming as it seemed to from nowhere and nothing.

Alessandro stirred and brought himself up onto his right elbow to face away from me, coughing into his left fist before standing and wandering off, with a quick wave of greetings to me. How glad I was that he still yet lived. He returned with a small pail of water and doused the fire.

“How was your sleep?”

“As good as can be expected," I responded through a yawn.

“God be praised," was his response, said with the lightness of someone whose heart had not yet turned to stone.

“Indeed," was mine, with the darkness of someone whose heart had.

He paused, crouching down to speak to me, and said gently, kindly, and seriously, “God will grant you peace, Nicolo, soon enough."

I laughed at his earnestness.

“Yes, and let’s hope it’s none too soon," I lied. I stood and grabbed my belt with its still sheathed sword to tie it to my waist. “We have a city to claim.”

* * *

I sat astride my horse, Marco, waiting. Marco whinnied and threw his head, perhaps picking up on the strained feeling in the air. I lay my hand on his neck and shushed him, hoping that by pretending to be calm he and I would both somehow become so. Next to me were hundreds of other men and horses, dressed for battle. I was sweating under my chainmail and cursed the sun for its heat. Between us and the walls of the city were thousands of men, fighting and hacking away at each other. Even from this distance, I could hear the din of metal clanging against metal and the anguished screams of the dying.

_It won’t be long now._

Marco shifted nervously. I looked to the right towards our commander who sat astride his own horse, which was beautiful, black, and shining. Obviously cleaned the night before. What a waste.

He raised his sword, tightened his knees, and let out a great bellow as he urged his horse forward. His followers collectively screamed too, all of our anger and hatred spilling out of us as we raced down the hill. 

When we hit the crowd of fighters on the ground it was like running into a wall they were so tightly packed in. I urged Marco on, into the fray, stabbing and slicing at whatever heathen stood in my way. Marco stumbled on some unknown obstacle and fell, screaming as he went down and I flew off of him, landing hard on another man as I came down. My horse’s collapse had scattered the horde enough so that when I jumped off of the man and he turned around, he had enough room to whirl with one of those curved swords our enemies so favored, and to slash my belly open. He seemed to freeze when he looked at me, and I used that opening and my last remaining strength to stab him in his belly too. I fell into him and saw his eyes widen with something that seemed like recognition and - oddly - betrayal, and I thought, deliriously, _h_ _e knows me_ before he fell, dead.

I still stood, looking down at the man in a fog, confused by his reaction and my thoughts, before I realized that my insides were no longer there. I dropped my sword and felt, blindly, at what was left of my intestines.

Dimly, I thought, as if from very far away, _a_ _h, damn. I suppose I don’t want to die after all_ and collapsed.

Dead, for the first time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Yusuf**

My first thought upon gasping back to life was

_Ah, God be praised. I’m no longer dead._

Followed by swift and utter confusion. How can one no longer be dead? I had died, I knew it. I had felt the pain and horror and life leaving my body. I had been dead.

Yet here I was.

I stayed lying down, on my back, staring up at what had previously been the morning sky and was now the night. _The stars are lovely this evening_ , I thought absently _._ I brought my hand up and gently touched my belly, so recently the site of a mortal wound, and felt around under my armor, still looking up. No wound. My strange calmness fled from me at this proof and I sat up, thinking _I must see with my own eyes_ and looked down at myself. I was covered in blood. Much of it was mine. Some of it was…

I remembered suddenly who killed me, and my head snapped over to the blue-eyed man from my dreams. He was lying in the mud, face to the side, blue eyes open and looking at me, unseeing. Still dead, as was usual.

“You bastard,” I said to him, with a surprised laugh. “You killed me.” _I thought those eyes held something else for me._

Dragging my eyes from his I looked around the battlefield but immediately regretted it. There were bodies strewn everywhere, my comrades and the infidels. Limbs, bowels, eyes, bones. I thought, _Once God leaves their souls and death takes them, they look more alike than different._

I looked back to the blue-eyed man, who was still dead.

 _This must be a gift_. _God has chosen me to live, for some divine reason. All around me is evidence of his judgment, yet I have been judged differently. Why?_

My killer suddenly gasped in a great heaving breath. It shocked me, as I’d only recently become acquainted with the idea of being alive again after dying, and I shouted in surprise. His eyes snapped up to mine and that blue was full of so much anger it briefly took my breath away. Then I thought, _Oh, hell, he’s going to kill you again._ And he did.

* * *

I awoke again, this time with something less like shock and more like irritation, and thought, _I suppose this is going to become a habit_ , _this dying and coming back to life._ Immediately I looked to where the blue-eyed man had been before he killed me the second time, but he was no longer there. I breathed a sigh of relief. At least this time I’d have some time to enjoy my newly granted life before being murdered again. Being murdered was not enjoyable. I’d had an inclination of that before, of course, but now I really _knew_ , and it wasn’t something I wished to do again for quite some time.

I stood, wincing as if by instinct before I realized that I didn’t actually have any pain. I quickly took stock of my body and realized that I felt…good. Very good. Better than I had for quite some time.

 _Are you not only incapable of dying, but also quick to heal?_ I wondered. I gingerly inspected my arms and legs, all of which appeared to be whole and healthy. There was no proof of the cuts and bruises from my previous deaths.

“That appears to be the case," I answered.

Now what?

My thoughts flew immediately to the blue-eyed bastard who had killed me twice. He had also come back to life. I knew that in my bones. We had both been dead, and we had both risen. I had dreamt of him. It must mean _something._ For the briefest of moments I considered trying to find him, to see if he perhaps understood this gift more than I, but immediately dismissed it. Though I could apparently come back from death, I did not wish to go there again for some time, and the way he’d looked at me before killing me… I knew that he would do it again.

I picked up my sword, found my bow and arrows, and looked towards Jerusalem. Flames rose from the walls and I could hear the sounds of battle from within.

I thought, _God has granted me this gift; I will use it to defend his city_.

Decision made, I ran back into the war.

* * *

Jerusalem was on fire. Everywhere I looked was horror, the kind of horror so shocking that even as my eyes took everything in I knew that I wouldn’t be the same person on the other side. I ran through the city, attacking God’s enemies wherever I came upon them, cutting them down mercilessly. It was all they deserved, death at my hands; I was God’s angel, exalting him day and night and never slackening.

Finally, I came upon the synagogue, which was in flames. I sent up a prayer that no one was inside but knew in my heart that there were. There were soldiers fighting even here, with the background of the inferno, and that was the point at which I felt something break inside of me.

All of this _pain_. For what? So that these western dogs could take a glittering prize, so the Catholic pope could boast that Jerusalem was his, but it was in fact _mine,_ these were _my people_ , and they were dying for _nothing_. Who are they, to think they have dominion over my God’s city, where my God’s people had lived for hundreds of years in peace? My rage became a living thing.

That’s when I saw my killer again. He had taken off his helmet – idiotic – and he was staring up at the flames, with no one around him, completely alone. He was everything wrong with the invaders, with his weak, pale skin and unnaturally colored eyes. Quietly, I leaned down and retrieved my dagger from my right boot. I crept to where he stood and unfolded to my full height, grabbed his hair in my left hand and put my dagger to his throat.

I pulled his head back to look into his eyes, cutting from left to right, deeply and slowly. It was strangely intimate; the sound seemed to fade from around us. All I could hear was the gurgle of his blood flowing from his neck. I saw shock, confusion, recognition, and sadness cross his face as he stared at mine. I held onto his hair, and kept staring at him, all of my rage running out of my eyes and into his. I wanted him to know who did this to him.

He died, and I dropped his lifeless body to the ground. This time I felt nothing. I was God’s angel and I supervised the pits of hell.


	3. Chapter 3

**Nicolo**

The second time coming back to life was less terrifying, but more painful. This was the death in which I realized that I deserved to be dead, but I was not. That I would continue to deserve death, but would never be able to attain it. That I would have to live, forever, with all of the hideous things I had done and seen.

I couldn't help but remember what I saw last night, behind my eyelids. A woman trying to protect her baby, both skewered by a sword. A child missing an eye, crying alone. Fire set to holy places, projectiles bringing down homes. People screaming, trapped in an inferno.

_If death ever sticks to you, surely hell will not be as cruel as we Christians were last night._

The battle appeared to be over. A group of soldiers stood near me, talking quietly, and there was no evidence of fighting. It seemed peace –or, at least, sanity - had finally fallen on the heavenly city, and I thanked God for it.

I rolled over and felt gingerly at my throat, which was closing up quickly, stitching up as if by magic – or divine retribution. I didn’t think about the soldiers until I noticed them turn and stare at me, terror blooming across each face. One murmured, “Lord above. He’s come back from the dead.”

I froze. I thought, _You cannot let them catch you. You are an abomination, and they will kill you over and over._ I stood, and started running. I ran and ran, weaving through alleyways and open doors, and I didn’t stop until I felt I would collapse. There was an open door to an apparently abandoned home to my right. I staggered in, closed the door, and sat in the darkness for a long, long time.

* * *

Many minutes later, I still sat perfectly still against the door, with my head in my hands. My breathing had normalized; my body calming itself, healing whatever damage I had done in my panicked fleeing. The utter, bone-deep panic had also subsided, replaced by tiredness and anger, and then finally lapsing into existential terror.

Those soldiers would have already spread the story of the man who’d come back to life, and rumors moved quickly in a camp. I couldn’t go back. I knew that. I could go home, but we were so far from a port and I didn’t know the languages. My Greek was rudimentary at best, and I had none other except Latin and my native tongue – I was doubtful any native within five thousand paces of where I sat spoke either.

So where did I go? What did I do? God in Heaven, what could I do _?_

I squeezed my eyes shut, slammed my hands to the ground in a childish display of distemper and was immediately rewarded with a sharp pain in my palm. I brought my hand up and watched as a sliver of sharp rock was dislodged all of its own from my skin.

I hated myself, then, more than I ever had. I hated my pathetic weakness, hated every impure thought I’d ever had, hated every decision I had ever made that led me to this God-forsaken place, and that God-forsaken man.

That man. I ran my fingers through my hair, remembering how he’d held me as he watched the life bleed from my eyes. He had looked like a madman. No, not mad. _Furious._ He looked like an avenging angel, sent to drag me to hell. I sighed.

“Not that I can go there, now," I said to the empty room.

That man was my next move. He had come back from the dead – twice – just as I had. Perhaps we were destined to find each other, to kill each other over and over until one of us stayed dead.

I stood, my back to the door. I would find him. Somehow.

* * *

So it was, that about two months after dying for the first time, I laid eyes again upon my killer. I was flat on my belly on a rooftop in Ashkelon, watching him enjoy a meal with his fellow soldiers below me. It had been so long I hardly recognized him, though he plagued my dreams often enough. His beard was perhaps a little longer, and he was of course not covered in blood like last time. He was also smiling, which was startling.

 _He looks like he’s quick to laugh,_ I thought.

I had been trailing behind my countrymen, following them from skirmish to skirmish as they headed to the coast, I assumed for another large battle. I gave the men a very wide berth, sticking to myself, trying to stay alive, praying I would not be caught and hung. My newfound inability to stay dead would be a very painful problem, if death was ordered upon me.

It had seemed as good an idea as any, to follow them. I scavenged from what they left behind, and hoped we were on the same path as my killer. After a few days traveling, I knew that we were. I do not know how I knew this, I just _did_. It was a part of me now, some inherent knowledge that perhaps came with being an un-killable man who had been killed by an un-killable man.

My dreams became stranger still, on the road. They didn’t feel _normal_ ; they didn’t seem contained in my own head. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were somehow sharing dreams, that I was seeing his dreams and he saw mine. Sometimes it felt as if I looked out at the world from his eyes, and if that was true, surely he was looking out from mine. These thoughts frightened me most of all. If I was damned to stay alive for all eternity, it was my fervent wish to stay sane, and there was nothing sane about being sure that I shared dreams with someone.

I wished, all the time, more than anything, that I knew more, but what had happened to me felt as unknowable as God, and God seemed further from my grasp than ever before.

I gave the man one last, long stare and then climbed down from the roof to walk back to my sad little camp. As night fell I lay on the hard packed ground, thinking of tomorrow, feeling simultaneously more alone and less alone than I ever had in my entire life, and looked up at the stars. I knew that my invisible partner was doing the same.

_You’ll kill him tomorrow. Three times will bring an end to this madness. You will return home, see your family, and grow old. You will live a good life and be welcomed by God on Judgment Day. All will be well._

I closed my eyes and dreamt of nothing at all.


	4. Chapter 4

**Yusuf**

The blue-eyed man was following me. I knew it, like I knew the color of the sky. It was a constant prickle at the back of my neck, an irritating awareness that never went away. I knew his name was Nicolo, somehow. I knew that he missed his family and his home. I knew, too, that he meant to kill me again.

I knew many things now, but I didn’t understand any of it.

The entire time he followed me I had considered breaking off from my group and finding him myself, to end this maddening waiting-to-be-killed, but I never did. I told myself that it was too suspicious to leave, that I would be hanged for desertion – and that was certainly an important consideration – but in my heart I knew that I simply did not wish to kill him again. Over the course of months I had felt his hatred, his fear, and his confusion, but above all I had begun to feel a strange sort of kinship with him: We were perhaps the only two people in the world who had come back from death. In a way, we were brothers. How does one kill a man like that?

Beyond _not_ killing him, though, I couldn’t decide what to do about Nicolo. I had no interest in being trailed and killed over and over again. Death hurt, but besides that, it was no way to live. I thought that if we perhaps spoke the same language I could reason with him, convince him I was not an enemy, and that we should go our separate ways; however, it struck me as unlikely that he would know any of the languages I did.

I knew he would find me before I had any semblance of an answer, so I resigned myself to at least one more painful death at his hands. It came quickly.

* * *

One important fact that I did not learn from my connection with the blue-eyed man was that he was not alone, as I had carelessly assumed. No, he was with an entire army. I learned this in the middle of a particularly hot night when I suddenly awoken by a man roughly shaking me awake.

“They’re here, they followed us, they’re attacking, wake _up_ and fight!”

“Who’s here?” I asked the man stupidly.

“I don’t know, but they’re fucking killing us.” He paused as my brain sleepily processed the sounds of battle. “Get up!”

“Yes, right.” I grabbed my sword and jumped to my feet, ready to fight. The only problem was that I couldn’t really see; it was full dark, and there was no moon. I saw the black outlines of people running against the deepest blue, saw the orange and red dots of campfires here and there, and nothing else. I turned to the man who’d awoken me.

“I can’t see shit.”

“I know." His sword was held straight out and shaking slightly. “I can’t tell us from them. There’s woods ahead, I say we run for it.”

“A good a plan as any,” I replied. “Go.”

We ran for the trees, stumbling and falling in our blindness. Panic was all around us; though we were trained fighters, we were completely unprepared for a battle. Men were still shrugging on their armor as they were killed. I jumped over a man who looked as if he was still asleep, poor bastard. We kept running. In front of me I could see a dark ring of perhaps three or four men, all facing the trees, fighting with someone coming out of the woods. The dark shadows fell one-by-one as we raced on, and I knew who the killer would be before he stepped out of the gloom.

Nicolo wiped his mouth of blood and looked up at me as I stopped dead in my tracks. Even in the darkness, I could see those damned blue eyes.

“Fuck,” I said.

My companion raced on into to the trees.

My grand ideas of somehow convincing this savage man that I was not his enemy suddenly struck me as foolish in the extreme. He was covered in blood; he was there to kill me.

I gripped my sword, waiting for him to make the first move. He ran towards me, yelling and swinging wide from the hip to bring his sword down on me two handed, but I quickly parried. He pulled it back and let go with his left hand, swinging the sword across my right arm and torso, drawing first blood from my upper arm. His left hand grabbed my tunic to pull me into the blade but I got a knee up between his legs and twisted away.

I held my sword up between us, looked into his eyes and said in very clear Arabic, “I am not your enemy," but there was no reaction except to come at me again, swinging to hit my left flank. I parried again.

“I am not your enemy!” I yelled, in Turkic, this time, as he turned and brought his sword down on my left shoulder, where it cut in deep - too deep - and began oozing blood as he pulled it away. My left arm was rendered useless. Bastard.

“I’m not your fucking enemy," I screamed in Greek, as I began to hack at him with my working arm, losing all finesse in my desperation. My rage gave me strength and I began pushing him back as he defended against my blows.

“I’m not your fucking enemy, I do not want to kill you, get it into your fucking head!” I kept beating him back, but I had lost too much blood already, and I could feel myself slowing. He saw an opening and brought his sword up between my ribs, pushing his full weight against the blade. I gasped, and blood came bubbling out of my mouth.

"But I want to kill you," he whispered in Greek, and yanked his sword out. He dropped me to the ground and walked away without a backward glance. I stared at his retreating back and thought, if I come back, I’m going to fucking kill him for this.


	5. Chapter 5

**Nicolo**

As I walked away from his body, an arrow struck me in my left arm. I yanked it out and watched in horrified resignation as the hole closed up in front of my eyes. I sighed, standing still as the battle raged on around me. I was still alive, still healing. Killing my killer again had done nothing. He hadn’t wanted to fight me. What a fool I was.

Three more arrows struck my torso and neck in quick succession, and any remaining fight I had in me fled.

_God above. Might as well die for now_. So I did.

* * *

When I jerked to life this time, I felt the point of a dagger against the vein in my neck. I hissed and froze, looking up into the face of the man I so hated. He was rather casually holding the blade against me, looking thoughtful and calm, though his hair was wild, and he was covered in blood from the mouth down.

“------ ---- ----- awake.” His Greek was much better than mine but I caught the last word.

“Yes. Awake.” I spoke carefully, mindful of the sharp edge at my throat.

“Good.” He paused, looked me over. “I will not kill you. This," he moved the knife slightly, “is so you do not kill me. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He said something more but I could not understand. He sighed, comprehending my lack of comprehension.

“You and me.” He gestured between the two of us. “Same. No death.” He raised his eyebrows, awaiting my response.

“Yes.”

He sighed again, muttering to himself. I might not know his language, but I could understand frustration in a thousand tongues. He slowly took the dagger from my throat and used it to point to himself.

“Yusuf Al- Kaysani.”

His name? I wasn’t sure. It wasn’t Greek, of only that was I certain.

“I am Yusuf.” Ah, yes, a name. His name. Yusuf. We were introducing ourselves.

“I am Nicolo.”

He smiled and turned his head away from me briefly, clearing his throat, and then went suddenly still, shielding his eyes against the sun and looking into the distance. I turned to look too, his stabbing me no longer a pressing concern. A man was approaching us, and had begun yelling in a language I didn’t understand. I looked back to Yusuf, who had gone very still. He looked down to me and narrowed his eyes. He seemed to be making a decision.

He said something I didn’t understand. He stood up and gestured at me to stand.

“Come, now. Come!” He tugged at my arm with urgency. I looked back at the approaching man and saw that there were now many more men, perhaps a half dozen, and their faces spoke the universal language of fear and anger. I picked up my sword, and we ran into the trees.

* * *

The forest enveloped us quickly, the wood surprisingly thick for being so close to a village. We ran until we no longer heard them following us, and then kept going, putting as much distance between them and us as possible. Finally we slowed down and then stopped. We both breathed heavily, sucking in air. I put my hands on my knees and tried to slow my heart’s racing as I eyed my unexpected companion warily. He claimed not to want to kill me, but as for the future – who knew?

Yusuf, for his part, seemed better suited to running than I and was quickly breathing normally. He looked at me and huffed out a laugh, muttering something I didn’t understand. I didn’t know what to say. The entirety of my plan had been to kill him again, and perhaps kill him again after that, over and over until it took, but this laughing man had screamed that he did not want to kill me and now stood smiling at me. I was adrift.

He said something again. It had the cadence of a question but I didn’t understand beyond that. He sighed and looked up, muttering to himself again.

“I will not kill you," he said, enunciating every syllable, slowly.

I nodded, yes.

God above, I wish we could speak to each other. Now that we’d reached an agreement vis-à-vis not murdering each other, I had so many things to say, but my Greek was execrable and I couldn’t put the words together.

“I understand," was my painfully crafted response.

He nodded too, and began to walk slowly towards me, palms out. I recognized the posture used for calming wild animals. Like a wild animal, I did not move, but cautiously watched him come to stand just in front of me.

He stuck his right hand out and waited. I looked at his face and he raised his eyebrows, looking pointedly down at his palm. I slowly proffered my own hand, and we shook on it. My tongue touched the roof of my mouth when our hands touched – involuntary, and odd. I took my hand back and wiped it against my mouth, wondering what was next.

He said something again. Again, I did not understand. I shook my head no, and his lips quirked in amusement. Mine did not.

“I will go home. You?” He crossed his arms and waited.

I thought for a moment. I had finished my pilgrimage. If I was no longer set on killing this man; nothing held me here.

_You wished to kill this man not hours ago, minutes ago. What has changed?_ I dismissed the errant thought, as it did not matter. The end result was the same: I no longer wished death upon him.

I nodded in affirmation. “Yes. Home.”

“Where?”

“Genova.” Yusuf nodded, seemed to recognize the place.

“You?” I wanted to know where he called home too.

“Aleppo.” I knew it. It was perhaps twenty days on horseback from here; he was much closer to home than I was.

“I-“ he paused, seeming to think of the words to use, “-buy. And sell.”

A merchant. What words could I use to explain my work? I had no idea what the word for priest was in Greek.

“I pray.” I made the sign of the cross and hoped he’d understand. He didn’t seem to.

A silence fell upon us then as we looked at each other. Perhaps the only two men who could not die in the entire world, who seemingly shared dreams _,_ and yet we could not communicate properly. I had so many questions.

_Do you think we’ll ever die? Do you heal miraculously quickly? Has anyone else killed you? Do you think there are others? Do you see my dreams? Do you dream of me, as I dream of you?_

I vowed to master Greek when I got home.

Home. A more practical question struck me: _How will you get home, Nicolo?_

“Can you help me get to a ship?” I asked in Genoese, without thinking. He clearly didn’t understand. I rolled my eyes, revised my language and tried again in Greek.

“Ship. I need a ship. For going home.” I felt embarrassed, felt like a child speaking to him in this truncated way, hoped he did not think me an ill-educated idiot. _You wanted to kill him, what do you care?_

“Ah," he nodded as comprehension dawned. He fell into silence again, looking around. His face was very expressive – it seemed to me I could comprehend him better visually than with our painfully stilted language. I watched his face, saw him perform calculations when his eyebrows lowered, consider a question when he bit the inside of his cheek and narrowed his eyes, and come to a conclusion when he looked into my eyes.

“Yes. You and me. -- --.” I didn’t understand the last words. He held his hand up, palm towards the sky and mimed walking with the fingers of his other hand upon his palm.

He said something else I didn’t understand, turned around, gestured for me to join. I stood unsure for a moment, and then followed him deeper into the woods.


	6. Chapter 6

**Yusuf**

I’d awoken that morning with fury still lingering in my head. Last night, I had offered that blue eyed bastard peace and he’d thrown it back into my face, sneered at me. _But I want to kill you_ , he’d said. Cheeky bastard _._ As I struggled to my feet, I saw his body not far from my own, riddled with arrows. He hadn’t made it very far at all.

I ran to his body, anger filling my heart, spoiling for another fight, wanting him to wake so I could kill him again. I clenched my sword as I stood above him, and looked my fill. He was a bit shorter than me, even paler in death than in life, and rather lean. His hair was dark, and longer than I’d seen on others’ from his part of the world.

As I looked at him, trying to categorize his characteristics, I felt the anger drift off as if carried away by the wind. He had a patchy beard, and darkness under his eyes. He had wide, square tipped nails at the end of long fingers. There was a small scar on his right wrist. This was a person just like any other – well, not like any other. _Like me_. He was far from home, no doubt, and seemingly cast aside from his countrymen. Alone. Scared. In a world he did not know or understand, unable to die.

I had dreamt of him.

The arrows started to push out of his body. His eyes started to regain their eerie color. He would be awake soon enough. I sighed at my soft-heartedness, cursed my empathy, and crouched down next to him. Thinking it better to be safe than sorry, I pulled the dagger from my boot, held it to his throat, and waited for him to come back.

* * *

Now I and my former mortal enemy – or, immortal enemy, as it was – trudged through the woods, making our way to Ashdod so that I could help him find a ship home.

At least, I hoped that was what he had asked for; his Greek was atrocious. It was a wonder, really, that he had understood me well enough to make his parting quip before killing me last night. ‘ _But I want to kill you_ ’ he’d said. I snorted. As parting shots went, it was rather a good one.

At any rate, it didn’t matter why he didn’t grasp more languages, and I would never know. I would put him on a ship and he would grow old in his home.

_Can you grow old, now?_

Strangely, the thought hadn’t occurred to me before then; I’d only thought of our gift as the inability to die violently. But what happened if we didn’t die violently? Could we die in our sleep? Starve to death? If we starved to death, and came back, would we regenerate completely or come back as withered husks? If our bodies healed themselves, would we ever age? Would we simply never die? They were worrying thoughts.

I glanced over at Nicolo as we walked, wishing that we could communicate better, wanting to ask him his thoughts on the matter. His serious eyes flashed at mine before I turned away.

I turned the questions over for a time, picking my way through the underbrush. The sun felt warm on my face, birds chittered above us, and I felt calm. Well, I thought, perhaps we would not age, but that was a problem for another day. Not for today. Today was beautiful, and for the first time in months I wasn’t worried about a blue-eyed man appearing from nowhere and murdering me. That blue-eyed man walked with me now. As far as days went, it was certainly one of my odder ones.

I smiled at the thought.

“What?” Nicolo gestured to my face and then curved a finger in front of his own, mimicking a smile. “Why?”

“Why am I smiling?” The question made me smile wider; I felt almost giddy. “I’m smiling, Nicolo di Genova, because I’m helping a man who has killed me multiple times, including once not hours ago. I have killed him too, and yet he has accepted my help. I’m smiling because life is strange, and sometimes wonderful, and the sun is on my face, and I will be going home soon. That is why I’m smiling.”

He stared at me, his eyebrows knit together, causing a line to dimple in the middle. His Greek really had been appalling; my long answer was therefore unkind. He didn’t appear to even know the word for ‘smile’.

“Smile.” I said the word and then smiled to show him. I gestured to his face and curved a finger in front of mine as he had done. “Smile.”

“Smile.” He repeated perfectly, and then chuckled. This was a sound I never expected to hear from my erstwhile murderer and my surprise must have shown on my face because a genuine grin spread across his features. He had a wide mouth, with grooves on either side of his lips, and his peculiarly colored eyes that had always struck me as so cold sparkled with warmth.

_Women must fall at his feet, when he smiles like that._

We fell into a companionable silence. It wouldn’t be long until we reached Ashdod. I passed him my water skin, and we trudged on.

* * *

As we neared our destination, melancholy – an old friend I rarely met - wrapped its arms around me. I did not want to arrive. I wanted to continue walking with Nicolo under the blue skies; I wanted to teach him Greek so that we could actually _talk_ ; I wanted to make him laugh again. It was irrational, I knew, but I actually liked this man. He was a stranger, yes, and had killed me a handful of times, but what was murder amongst friends? I still felt connected to him as I had since we’d first encountered each other, but I also felt contented being in his presence, like he was supposed to be next to me. Though he’d killed me, he made me feel strangely calm.

Of course, I said none of this out loud. I’m sure I glanced at him one too many times, trying to memorize what he looked like now, with the sun on his face, so that when I did think of him in the future I would remember him like this. He seemed happy too, and it pleased me to think I might calm him in the same way.

We drew ever closer to our separation.

* * *

Ashdod might be small compared to Aleppo but it was a bustling port city, and Genova was one of the largest ports of trade in the Mediterranean. I easily found a ship bound for Genova that needed a crewman.

Nicolo and I stood at the docks, looking at the ship that would take him away. My uneasiness grew, my guts roiling when I thought of how close he was to leaving. It felt _wrong_ – deeply wrong – for him to leave, but I couldn’t possibly explain why. _Yesterday, this man_ murdered _you. He killed you dead. And now you feel sick over his leaving? What is wrong with you, Yusuf?_ My conscience could to go hell.

I cleared my throat and looked down into his eyes, wondering what to say, feeling unaccountably wistful.

“Nicolo, remember that my name is Yusuf Al – Kaysani, and I am from Aleppo. If you ever need me, come find me.” I paused, considered his grasp of the language, and continued, “I hope that you do not forget me. I don’t believe I will ever forget you.”

I could tell he didn’t entirely understand, so I broke it into the sum of its parts. I touched my chest and said, “Yusuf Al –Kaysani, Aleppo.”

I touched his chest and said, “Nicolo di Genova.” I left my hand on his chest briefly, feeling it move with his breath.

He nodded.

“Yusuf Al- Kaysani. Aleppo.” He stuck out his hand, and I put my hand in his. I thought back to just this morning, when we had shook hands on not murdering each other. We shook hands now, in goodbye. I did not want to let go. I did not want him to leave, but he did.

* * *

It would be many, many years before I saw him again.


	7. Chapter 7

1117

**Nicolo**

In the spring of the year of our lord 1117, as I looked upon my unchanging reflection in the mirror of the hallway of my home, I finally came to the conclusion that I could not age.

It had been twenty long years since my first and last death, and _nothing_ had changed. I did not have a single line, wrinkle, sunspot, or scar that hadn’t been present before Yusuf Al-Kaysani killed me at Jerusalem. I turned my head from side to side, observing.

Alessandra entered the hall and I saw her noticing me. I narrowed my eyes at my hatless head, observing. _Still the same thick deep brown_.

“My dearest brother," she sighed, as I noted my still-strong jawline, “why do you keep looking in the mirror?” Her face, which used to look so much like mine, appeared in the reflection. “You still look like a boy.”

I stuck my tongue out at her in the mirror and she laughed.

“When did we stop being each others’ reflections?” she asked, her eyes roaming my face.

“When you had that fourth child,” I responded. She hit my arm and I laughed and rubbed at the spot. “That’ll bruise, Les!” I said, all mock outrage. _It won't,_ I thought.

She made a dismissive sound. “Oh shut it you. Just because your belly’s as flat as a damned statue…” she rubbed her hands absently on her stomach, didn’t finish her thought. “Come to dinner; the children are putting on a little play and I won’t be able to stand it unless you’re there.”

“ _Another_ play?” I groaned. She nodded and sighed deeply as if to say, _I know they’re awful but they love to show off for us, so we must_ be kind.

“Fine, fine, I’ll be there presently.”

“You’d better,” she said, lightly punching me again and sticking her finger in my face, accusatorily. She was holding back a smile.

I laughed again as she turned and walked to the dining room, her soft shoes making no sound at all on the stone floor.

_When did you stop being her reflection, Nicolo?_

I looked back at the mirror and watched the smile slide from my face. Twenty years, and I still looked the same, while Alessandra looked like the grandmother she was. Our resemblance had always been so uncanny that it would shock people to learn we were not twins; now she looked like she could be my mother. For years we had joked that she’d grown old because the children drained the life from her, or that I was performing a dark ritual to keep my youth, but it was becoming impossible to ignore. _I_ could not ignore it any longer.

I looked again into the mirror; saw the stone wall behind me, contemplated ironically the way the late afternoon sun highlighted the cracks.

I felt a tug at my hand and looked down to see my grand-niece peering up at me with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She was eight, with the same dark hair and blue eyes all of my siblings had. She was mischievous, and kind. She would be a beauty soon. She wanted to be an authoress.

 _And you will not be here to see it_.

“Come along uncle, we have the most marvelous play, I just know you’ll love it”, she said, dragging me away from my silent reverie. I reminded myself that these were moments I should treasure.

* * *

Later that night, the low fire snapped and popped in the grate in my bedroom, its warm light chasing away the shadows behind me but doing nothing to warm me. I stared down at it, my hands on the mantle. I felt restless; I felt ill. I had been ignoring my predicament for too long, and now the time had come to make a decision.

How could I leave my family?

When I was sailing home all those years ago, I’d had nothing but time to think about my future. With the folly of youth, I had decided that I would return to the priesthood, do my best to cleanse myself of my many sins, put the war behind me, forget all about Yusuf Al-Kaysani from Aleppo, and become God’s most perfect servant unto judgment day.

Life, as is its wont, got in the way of that plan.

The first surprise: While I had been away fighting, the males in my family were dying one-by-one. My oldest brother had perished after a fall from a horse; my father passed of an apoplexy; my second brother and brother-in-law succumbed to some miasma. As the sole male, it fell upon me to rescue the family from ruin, my father having left a mountain of debt and not much besides.

The second surprise: The war would not be so easily cast aside. It was with me at all times; it was in the sound of sharpening knives, the whinny of a nervous horse, the crackling of a fire. I was hailed as something of a hero for completing my pilgrimage and fighting in the glorious battle that had claimed Jerusalem, but it was still a massacre in my mind and nothing to be proud of. I did not share these thoughts. Still, the whispers followed me where I went, reminding me.

The third surprise: I never forgot Yusuf. My dreams would not let me.

I clenched my hands into fists on the mantle, thinking back to my long ago panic after the siege. That man – Yusuf – was still my next move. Before that happened, I needed to put my affairs in order, starting with my beloved Alessandra. I would tell her tomorrow. It was far past time.

* * *

The next morning I found my sister reading in the sun-lit courtyard. She had on a simple blue day dress, her long hair tied in braids, and she absently hummed a tune as she turned the page. I closed my eyes and tried to memorize the moment. Soon, I would only have my memories.

“Alessandra," I said, and she looked up. “Might I speak with you?”

“Of course," she said, with a worried smile – I suppose my sadness had soaked into my tone.

“I –“ _God, I cannot tell her,_ I thought. She waited as I gathered my courage. _Have done with it Nicolo,_ I thought. “I have to tell you something, and you’ll have to do your best to believe what I’m about to say, although it will sound impossible.” 

Her puzzled frown became one of worry.

“I know. I know I sound mad. Please calm yourself, and just… watch, and trust me.” I took the dagger I’d been hiding from behind my back, looked at her again with reassurance – _I am not mad -_ and drew it deeply across my palm, grimacing. It still hurt, even if it would heal. Pain was still pain.

“ _Nico,"_ she gasped and flew to me, “what are you doing, you idiot man, why –“ she stopped as she held the bleeding palm up. It was mending itself, as it always had, as it always would. She looked up at me, her eyes wide.

“What is this?”

“It’s why I came back from the war. Les, I –“ I stopped again. God it was hard to tell someone else; it was hard enough for _me_ to believe it. “I…cannot die. Or, I can die, but I come back. I don’t know how, and I don’t why, but it is the truth.”

She stared at me, open-mouthed, before dropping my hand and turning away. Quickly, she turned back to grab and look at my palm, which was knitting together before her eyes, the lifeline almost – _always_ \- unbroken. She turned away again. I waited. It was an impossible thing to process, as I well knew. After a few long moments, she turned back to me.

“This is why you look so young,” she said.

“I believe it is," I confirmed.

She continued to stare, before taking my hand again and inspecting it. The wound had healed entirely.

“God above," she muttered. I watched her as she took in my unmarked palm, running her finger along where the scar would lay, if any of this were normal.

“Nico, this is…” she trailed off. “I hardly know what to say. Have you always been like this? How did I never know?” She continued to inspect my palm.

“I haven’t always been like this. I –“ I huffed out a laugh when I realized how mad my next words would sound to her. “I discovered it at Jerusalem. I was killed, in the battle.” Her eyes flew to mine in alarm.

“I know it sounds mad, I know, but it’s true. I was sliced open, and I awoke a few hours later, completely healed. That’s when it started." Her eyes searched mine, her pupils dancing from side to side before coming to a conclusion.

“A gift, Nico. It’s a gift.”

I laughed, “It doesn’t feel like one.”

“Nicolo, if what you say is true, you _cannot die._ ” She looked at me in what I can only describe as wonderment. “Think of all the good you could do. This _is_ a miracle.” Her eyes began to fill, so I drew her into a hug. She was a tall woman, almost as tall as me, and her head rested comfortably on my shoulder.

“I think I know what we need to discuss," she whispered. I pulled back and looked at her in surprise. “You’ll have to leave, won’t you? You can’t stay here, looking as you do, as we all grow old around you.”

I nodded in affirmation; relieved and pleased that she had come to the same conclusion without my needing to say it, and dropped my forehead against hers. We used to do this when we were children; it was a gesture leftover from an experiment in passing our thoughts to each other. It was a comfort. _She_ was a comfort; she knew me better than anyone. _What will you do without her?_ My eyes became cloudy with unshed tears.

She wiped her eyes with her thumb and then pulled back, smiling.

“Well,” she said, “if I had known of this, I would have hit you around the head a bit more.”

I barked out a surprised laugh though my tears. “Ah, Les," I murmured, hugging her again, "practical as always.”

She smiled and put her forehead back to mine. She was still smiling, though it was sadder. “I am, indeed. Now," she wiped at her eyes again, “what’s to be done?”

* * *

Over the course of months, I taught my sister everything I could about the business, so that it could continue running after I left. I had – with no elegance of forethought or, strictly speaking, much business acumen – become a respectable importer and exporter of exotic spices. Genova, being just between the east and the west, and in an enviable position on the sea, was perfectly located for such a venture; I like to think that if it weren’t for my immortality I would have died a rich man.

My sister had been something of a silent partner in business matters over the decades, so it was simply a matter of her shadowing my day-to-day in order to learn everything else before I mysteriously disappeared. She would act on my behalf while fruitlessly searching for me, and after enough time had passed, she would transfer her knowledge, and eventually everything else, to my eldest nephew.

I purchased an abandoned farmhouse outside of the city in which to store a few sentimental items – a portrait of Alessandra with her eldest, a hairpin that had belonged to my mother - and to bury some gold. I was aware even then that I would likely be unable to stay in one place for as long as I had here, ever again. Gold might prove helpful in the vast chasm of my future, supposing, of course, that no one dug it up in the interim.

I prayed every night that God would guide me. Though I still believed that my inability to die was a curse, I knew that He would not have deviled me without reason. Alessandra saw it as a gift, which I didn’t quite believe, but I had started to think of it as an opportunity, and felt shame that I hadn’t thought it as such before. She’d said I should think of all the good I could do. I would try.

I was to be on a boat bound for Tartus in the high summer, ostensibly to bring back spices. I would disembark and never be seen again. Back home, my sister would moan and wail and mourn for me, working all the while. I would travel to Aleppo. I hoped that the internal compass that had served me so well in finding Yusuf all those years ago would do the same again.

Truthfully, I was tremulous at the thought of seeing Yusuf again, but he had become like the North Star to me: Wherever I went, I would always end up searching for him, and he would always be there. This was inevitable. _He_ was inevitable. I knew it, but it didn’t make the feeling of predestination any less frightening.

Blasphemously, I prayed most of all that I would be able to forget my dreams when I saw Yusuf; that I would be able to look him in the eye as a good Christian and not see my weakness reflected back at me.

* * *

The day I departed for Tarsus, my sister did not weep. She held my head in her hands, touched her forehead to mine, and said quietly, so no one could hear, “Wherever you go; know that I have ever loved you, my dear brother. You will see wondrous things in your long life, but I will miss you until your dying day." She paused and stared into my eyes. "Do good, and be well.”

I struggled to keep my tears at bay, and hugged her long and hard. My only sister. My closest friend. The best of women. I knew I would be leaving a piece of myself on these docks.

“Goodbye, Alessandra," I whispered, before wrenching myself away to run to the ship, wiping tears from my face. I did not look back.


	8. Chapter 8

**1117**

**Yusuf**

The blue-eyed man was coming back to me. I knew it, like I knew his name. It was a constant brush at the back of my neck, a glorious awareness that never went away. I knew his name was Nicolo di Genova; I’d turned it over often enough on my tongue. I knew that he had been with his family, at his home. I knew, too, that he did not mean to touch me again.

I knew even more things than I had previously, but I still didn’t understand any of it.

* * *

On a cold night in early spring, I dreamt that Nicolo stared at himself in a mirror. He wore a loose white tunic and nothing else. A fire crackled in the grate in front of him. I stood far behind him and thrilled at his bare legs; the muscled thighs and calves. It had been so long since I had seen him thus. Perversely, I wanted to lick the back of his knees. He seemed to be inspecting his face in the mirror; eyes darting all around. Curious, I stepped closer. His right hand went to the back of his tunic. He hesitated. _Please_ , I thought, and my mouth went dry when he finally tugged the shirt over his head. I truly knew this was a dream, then, because his body was too perfect for it to be otherwise. I remembered my assessment of him when I stood above him on the battlefield at Ashkelon: Lean. He was indeed lean, but beautifully so. Softly muscular all over. I had never seen his front, only his back, and so I greedily drank in the sight, feeling I would never get enough of simply _looking_ at him.

Something changed, all of the dreamy sensuousness gone now that he was unclothed. He looked down at his body, roughly inspected his arms, his chest, turned and looked at his back. He sighed, and looked as defeated as I’d ever seen him. I thought to comfort him and involuntarily stepped forward. It was then that I awoke.

“You having a good dream over there, Yusuf?” laughed Ahmad from across the fire. I peeked one half open eye at him.

“Fuck off, Ahmad,” I said as I turned over to put my back to him. The other guards roared with laughter.

It was cold that evening, and I heartily wished I could transport myself back to that warm stone room. I contented myself with closing my eyes and trying to memorize every line of his fire-lit muscles, hoping it would keep me warm in the nights to come.

* * *

I had joined the caravan in Kabul, a city where I had whiled away years blending in. Before, I was in Kashgar; before that, Khutan; before that, Kathmandu. Apparently I could be dropped into any town starting with K, and be content.

I had joined this particular caravan because the pay was good, and the driver had warned that there would be especially vicious brigands on the route. He had to pay more, he told me, because the journey was so famously dangerous.

So far, he’d been correct. We’d had to fend off three attacks in the Alborz; the high mountains providing more than sufficient cover for men desperate enough to attack such a well-defended convoy.

The guards had warmed to me, as they always did, when they saw my skill with a blade and bow. These guards called me “Ghost” because I was everywhere and nowhere at once. By other guards I had been called Jinn, because I was magically quick; Azrael, because I was the Angel of Death; and The Octopus, because I seemed to have so many arms.

All things considered, The Octopus was my least favorite. Certainly, it was the least intimidating.

* * *

On a freezing night in late spring, I dreamt of my mother. She was sitting in the courtyard, shelling chickpeas. One of the dogs sat patiently, wagging its tail, waiting for her to make a mistake. Another dog slept next to her, belly up, tongue lolling from its mouth. I could hear my brothers arguing in the house. I sat next to her and took a handful of chickpeas from the bag. We sat quietly together in the heat, peeling open the pods and throwing the peas into another sack. She looked over at me and smiled, and I smiled back.

It was a good dream.

* * *

One night sitting around the fire, Karim asked me where I was from.

“The moon,” I said.

“Point taken,” he responded.

* * *

On that journey, when I felt that Nicolo was coming to find me, I thought of him constantly. I didn’t know the man. We killed each other, many times. We had shared a warm walk through the woods, a few short conversations, and a water skin. I had been hopelessly infatuated with him for decades, assigning all sorts of mystical importance to him - to our supposed connection - but the hard truth was that I didn’t know him. I couldn’t even be sure that our dreams were connected. My _feeling_ that he was coming to find me, that brush at the back of my neck, was the same as being in the darkness and _knowing_ that something watched you from afar. It might be true, but it might not. In this case, I hoped to God I was being watched, but still. I didn’t _know._

* * *

On a rainy night in early summer, as the rain dropped onto my upturned face, I dreamt of Hammad. He was leaning against a wall in an alleyway near my home, looking up at me in a way I’d recognized in my bones as flirtatious, despite never having seen a man act in such a way towards me. I had my right arm above his left shoulder, and I looked down at him in a way that I recognized as flirtatious too. I thought of blue eyes.

He leaned forward and kissed me and it was the beginning of the end.

* * *

We were attacked again, this time in the Hulwa pass. Men on horseback took us by surprise, quickly taking me down with an arrow to the back of the head. I wore no helmet, so it was, all things considered, an easy and merciful death. When I awoke later, Karim, Ahmad, and the others were dead, the horses slaughtered, and everything had been stolen. I picked through what was left, pocketed some pieces of jewelry from my fallen friends, and continued the journey to Baghdad.

* * *

I collapsed innumerable days later, having never found anything to eat. Starving was a horrible way to go, but at least once I died I would come back as strong as I’d been weeks before. I closed my eyes and waited to frustrate Azrael once again. Surely he hated me by now. I drifted off.

By the time I was stoned to death, my mother had known I was immortal for a few weeks. I had fallen from a tree while picking lemons – a short drop but a hard stop – and a bone in my arm had snapped, sticking through the skin. My mother had run to me, terrified, and had watched in shock as the bone pulled back into the skin, as my arm regained its normal shape, as the muscles and skin knitted themselves back together. I said nothing, my foolish accident forcing my hand; she could see my secret herself.

She stared at me for a long time. I told her everything. She held me in her arms and cried. She was a good woman, empathetic to a fault, kind to animals and my idiot brothers. I thought that everything would be all right.

I had just come down Hammad’s throat when the door opened and my brother Farouk stuck his head in and saw us. We were on my pallet, I on my back and Hammad hovering over me with his fingers inside of me; no possible way to hide or misconstrue what we’d been doing. Farouk’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped into an “o” of surprise before he slammed the door shut. 

“Fuck,” I said, eloquence not yet being a strong suit.

Hammad hurried through the window, and I sat in my room for a long time, staring at the door, wondering what waited for me on the other side.

Initially, I thought I’d escaped punishment, that Farouk – who was my favorite brother – hadn’t told anyone what he’d seen. I was wrong.

I still can’t look too closely at what happened that day. In the end, my mother and I were both dead, but of course, I came back.

I felt tears collecting in the corners of my eyes as I lay at the base of the mountain. Why wasn’t I dead yet? I’d starved once before; I recognized the flailing of my brain trying to restart itself, the fog descending.

My mother smiling at me, the dog wagging its tail, the smell of lemons, Farouk's look of surprise.

Nicolo above me, dripping kisses into my mouth. After so long desperate for his touch I could hardly be satisfied; to feel his body on mine, and his hands in my hair; his scent upon me, to know his love: Oh, delight. I groaned, and, finally, died.

* * *

I rented a room above a stable in Baghdad, planning to stay for at least a few days to recover. My body had healed, but my mind had not; it was always draining to die, but especially draining to die while hallucinating. The images…they stuck.

The room was dingy, but it had a pallet, and it was in a vibrant part of town that helped me feel alive, connected to the world. A market was just outside; the sound of commerce mingling with donkeys braying below kept me company.

I sat on the pallet in the dark room, sweating. I liked what I’d seen of Baghdad, but God above it was _hot_ this time of year. I kept the windows closed against the heat, but could feel it shimmering just outside. The moment I entered my room, every article of clothing I could spare was removed. I would not stay here long.

I contemplated finding a bathhouse to perform ghusl – God knew I needed to – but dismissed it. It was too hot to go outside. This would bring God’s wrath upon me, but what was He going to do me? Kill me? I laughed, considering the blasphemy. If I was going to live forever I would have a very long time to accumulate sins, and who knew if I would ever even meet my maker. I would find a bathhouse later, when I wasn’t so tired. I lay down to sleep.

On this stiflingly hot day in late summer, I dreamt of another dream, from years ago. It was more like a cherished memory, one I carried with me and took out from time to time, to try to convince myself that it was real and that it had happened. Like all of my nebulous feelings for and with Nicolo, I could not prove it _hadn’t,_ and that was good enough for me.

This dream – this memory – was from perhaps five years after we’d met and separated. I was still at my home, my mother was still alive and my brothers still trusted and respected me. I’d gone to sleep and was instantly transported to a dark, cool room, with moonlight flowing through two arched windows. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I caught the sound of whimpering and knew instantly what it was. Smugly, I thought, _not such a pure knight of God any longer_ , for I knew that this was a sin for his people.

 _Do not judge me thus; you are the incubus._ I heard Nicolo’s voice in my head. In the way of dreams, I accepted it.

I crept closer to the bed, which was large and luxurious. _He must be wealthy, now_ , crossed my mind, vaguely. He was laying on his front, face pressed to a bolster, supporting his weight on his left forearm. His right hand was below, quickly jerking. A tunic covered him from neck to waist, and a sheet covered him from the waist down; his body was thus completely shielded from my covetous eyes. I drew closer as his exhalations became rougher.

“You see?” he said, not looking at me, “This is what I have become.” He groaned, a sound that seemed to come from deep in his chest.

I said nothing, coming to stand next to the bed; reached out and pulled the sheets down and off of him. The tunic had rucked up to his waist as he rutted. My hand hovered just above the round of his ass. He sucked in air through his teeth.

“Do it.”

“No," I responded. I felt somehow apart from myself, in utter control as he lost his own below me. The dream felt odd; shimmery, as if I was and was not really a part of what was happening.

“Yusuf, please," he begged - I could tell it took a great deal for him to ask.

“Take off your shirt.”

He pulled his right hand from beneath himself and used it to take his tunic off. He still laid face down, but now both forearms supported his weight.

“Make yourself come," I commanded. He started to turn over. “No," I stopped him, sounding threatening even to my own ears, “stay just as you are.”

Nicolo groaned, dropped his forehead to the bolster again, and began fucking the bed. I cocked my head to the side and watched as his muscles bunched and released, working to drive himself to his peak. Feeling somehow removed from what was happening in front of me, I lay my left hand on his ass. He stuttered for a moment as I drew my hand lazily along the curve of his spine, up, up, up, carding my fingers through his hair and pulling slightly. He cried out and arched his back in response.

Anger hit me at his response, and my response to it. Who was this man, who showed me so much lust and made me feel so much desire? He had _left_. _This is a dream,_ I reminded myself, the _dream of a pathetic man desperate for connection. Your dream, Yusuf._ Quick as a viper I bracketed my left hand around his neck and held tight, squeezing slightly. He cried out, calling for his God. 

“No,” I ground out, “this is not your God. This is me.” He groaned, loud and long. "Who is it?" I asked.

“Yusuf,” he responded.

“Yes. Say it again.”

“Yusuf.”

“Again.”

“Yusuf. Yusuf!” He let out a great broken moan and I watched as every muscle in his body clenched and released. I sat on the bed, suddenly exhausted and on the verge of tears, the anger no longer propping me up. I felt him sit up behind me. His hand went to where my shoulder and neck met, and he laid his forehead at the top of my back. I heaved in a breath and began to cry. I could not account for it: I was overwhelmed. _Thank God this is a dream_ , I thought.

“Hush," Nicolo said, mouthing at the skin of my shoulder. He turned my head towards his, and began to lick the tears off my face. I gasped, shocked at how good it felt, the light touch pulling something unknown up and out of me. I barely breathed as the tip of his tongue traced the tracks of my tears, following them down, skipping over my mustache. I cursed my beard, wishing he could touch every part of my face. He licked at the inside of my open mouth and I shuddered with pleasure, pressing forward into his mouth. I wanted so many things; I wanted to be a part of him; I wanted to never let him go.

“Nicolo," I muttered, feeling delirious, starting to kiss him in earnest. _My heart._

I felt him go still. I pulled away to look, saw panic in his eyes. I suddenly felt colder than I ever had, my heart dropping to my feet.

“Nicolo," I said again, clutching at him, hoping to restore the easy intimacy of the past few moments, but he gently pushed me away.

I awoke in my little rented room in Baghdad, achingly hard, covered in sweat, and tried to seize onto the images before they disappeared. I grasped my cock and thought about my hand pressing into his neck, his broken moans, the feel of his soft hair, his tongue pressing against mine, the way the muscles in his back had shifted under his beautiful pale skin. Pleasure hit me, sharp and quick, and I laid back, tiredness gone. I sighed and wiped my sticky hand against the sheet.

I would get up and find a bathhouse. Ghusl was now an imperative.


	9. Chapter 9

**Nicolo**

I could still look the part of a sword-for-hire, so I easily found employment as a guard for a caravan traveling from Tarsus to Aleppo. I neglected to mention during my interview that I had barely touched my sword for the past twenty years, hoping that when it came time for it, my long-unused instincts would somehow kick in.

The journey so far had been easy, and quiet. I sat on my horse, lost in thought. It was sunny, and I was vaguely looking forward to stopping for a meal: The merchant was a surprisingly good cook. The wind lazily whistled past my ears, bringing with it the sound of the creaking wagons and the clinking of glass bottles stored inside. One guard spat. Another guard whistled tunelessly. An arrow whizzed past me and thunked into the wood of the wagon.

“Oh, hell” I said, looking behind us. Just three men on horses, apparently not especially skilled marksmen, but they were coming up fast.

“Behind us!” I shouted. We turned our horses and charged back at them. I pulled out my bow, notched an arrow, and let it fly. It hit one of the thieves square between the eyes, and as he fell from his horse I grinned, pleased that I was still a good shot.

I raced past a second thief clashing with one of the other guards on the ground to my left, focusing instead on the last man. I shot him in the shoulder and he spun from his saddle to the ground, quickly pushing himself up onto his knees before one of the other guards shot him in the guts with two arrows. He fell backward. The whole skirmish had taken perhaps three minutes.

I slowed my horse to a trot and led him over to the collapsed man, dismounting as I approached. The man was still breathing, but it was shallow and clearly laborious. He looked at me wildly and said in Arabic, “It hurts.”

I closed my eyes. I knew it hurt, more than he could possibly know.

“I’m sorry,” I responded. His lips were going blue. I took out my dagger and said a quick prayer in Arabic, then cut his throat, holding his hand as he quickly bled out beneath me. As I knew from experience, it was a kinder way to die. I closed his eyes and stood. The other guards were watching me. I looked at them and shrugged, as if to say _it needed to be done_. They nodded and we went back to the caravan.

* * *

Arriving in Aleppo felt somehow anticlimactic. I had tried not to think of being here, and of being reunited with the one specific man it had produced for twenty long years, and now here I was. It was a dusty city, and everything was brown. I knew instinctively that Yusuf was not here.

I rented a room at an inn for a few nights, so I could regroup and buy supplies before setting out again. On the second night I inquired of the innkeeper about Yusuf Al-Kaysani. I was an old friend, I told him, and I knew that he was from the area.

The innkeeper looked at me askance.

“I do know of him, actually," he said with hesitation. “You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?” I asked. The man sighed, clearly not happy to be the one to impart the mysterious news.

“He’s been gone for years. I won’t tell you the details, but he’s been dead and buried for a decade at least.” He paused and said, “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you." He walked away. The blood drained from my head.

“Thank you," I said to his retreating back, before walking to my room as calmly as possible.

I shut the door to my room and told myself to breathe, fighting a rising panic. _He’s probably not actually dead, Nicolo._ I closed my eyes and focused of the mysterious internal compass that led me to him. It pointed east. No. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t in Aleppo, but he was somewhere else. Tomorrow, I would buy a horse, and supplies, and continue to follow my unusual instinct.

* * *

I set out two days later with a new bow and set of arrows, enough pistachios, dates, labneh, honey and dried meat to keep me alive for at least a few weeks, and a new horse. I named him Marco, after my beloved steed that had died the same day Yusuf and I met and killed each other.

Beyond the vague inclination that Yusuf was _east,_ I had no idea of my destination, so I would be traveling alone. I hoped it would not take long.

* * *

The desert was beautiful at night, mysterious and dark. I swayed slowly on my horse, staring up at the blanket of stars and the brightest moon I had ever seen. It bathed everything in an eerie, dreamy palette of blues; what was once dark was now an inky deep blue, and what was once light was near white. I looked at my hands, bright against the reins and Marcos’ dark hair. I wondered what color Yusuf’s hands would be in this otherworldly light. I wondered if his hands would look even darker if they were held against my skin, the contrast highlighting the difference.

_Unnatural._ The world curled itself into my brain.

* * *

Once, when I was a child, I sat on my father’s shoulders and watched as a man was hanged. The crowd was thick, full of laughter, and had the air of a festival. I watched as the man was led up to the gallows, his hands drawn behind his back. His face was one of terror – even at my young age I could tell – and as he looked out over the crowd his wild eyes locked onto mine. People jeered and threw rotten food at him but he did not flinch. He smiled at me briefly before they obscured his head with a sack.

_Sodomite_ , I heard whispered around me.

He dropped, and his legs kicked and danced for unbearable minutes before going still. The crowd cheered.

“What’s a sodomite?” I asked my father on our walk home.

He bit into his apple and looked at me, assessing.

“Unnatural creatures," he said, “who will never be welcome in the Kingdom of Heaven.”

* * *

I looked out over those undulating hills of deepest blue, hearing my horses’ quiet huffs of breath beneath me, thinking of that long ago day, and felt small and weak.

“Sodomite," I whispered into the air. I immediately regretted it – with no other sounds to take its place, the word seemed to linger on the wind, accusing me of unnatural proclivities by its very existence.

_You are not a sodomite_ , I told myself. I was not.

_You love Yusuf like a brother, nothing more_. That was true.

_You will treat him as you have treated every other person you’ve met in your life. He’s unusual, yes, but that does not mean he is special._ I would do that.

_You will_ not _think of your dreams._ Right. I would not. The lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

Marco and I trudged on.

* * *

Baghdad was riotous, a beautiful, bustling city, bursting with people from all walks of life. In my first hours there, it felt as if I had seen every skin color, eye shape, nose shape, height and weight, as God had seen fit to grant humanity. I was invigorated by the multitude.

_You are invigorated by something else._ _A liar shall be caught_ , _Nicolo._

I knew Yusuf was here.

I wandered around the city on foot for three days after I first arrived, idly observing, hoping to find him when I turned a corner. On the fourth day, I decided to be more methodical about it, thinking I should observe food markets. I somehow knew that he was not here to stay, so he would need to feed himself a few times a day.

On the seventh day, as I walked back to my room, I began to question my supposed compass. It was spinning wildly; I had thought that meant I was at my magnetic north, but now I wondered if it just meant that it was broken. The sky on that day was blue, clear as my mind was not. I turned a corner, and stopped dead. There he was.

He was talking and laughing with another man at a food stall. My stomach dropped and I stared. Part of me wanted to run towards him, and part of me wanted to turn on my heel and flee - though I had been waiting to see him again for weeks - months - _years -_ I was suddenly, powerfully aware of how insane this was. What if he killed me again? What if he thought I was a madman, to travel across the world to find him? What if he...what if he kissed me? My feet kept moving, each step bringing me closer and closer to him.

He did not see me. He was chatting with his friend, looking down the road in the opposite direction. He looked the same. Exactly the same, like me, though his hair appeared to be somewhat longer than it had been, before, some curls lay against his forehead. His beard was shorter.

And then he turned, and he saw me, and it felt like time slowed, the last few steps that brought me to him felt longer than the trek through the desert and the journey across the mountains.

He squinted into the bright light, looking surprised, but not shocked, and a smile played at his lips. He muttered something to his friend and then began walking towards me, finally stopping in front of me so that I had to look up slightly. I’d forgotten that he was taller than me. I'd also forgotten how soft and kind his eyes were, when he was relaxed. I took a deep breath, desperately gathering clarity and sanity. 

“Hello, Nicolo di Genova," he finally said in Greek. I said nothing for long seconds, utterly baffled by my reaction to seeing him again. His eyes narrowed slightly at my quiet, but he waited for my response as people brushed past us.

“Hello, Yusuf Al–Kaysani, from Aleppo," I finally responded in Arabic. His eyebrows rose slightly and he smiled in a small sort of way.

“You’ve learned your languages?”

“I have.” We stared at each other. For my part I simply had no idea what to say, having never _really_ thought beyond finding him and perhaps collapsing into his arms from relief – and, I reminded myself, a brotherly sort of love.

“Why are you here?” he asked. His stare was somehow intense, emotions there behind his eyes that I could not fathom.

“To find you,” I responded, seeing no point in dissembling. Though he made me inexplicably nervous, he was why I was here. We both could not die. Perhaps it was time to discuss it.

He smiled again. I thought back to him teaching me the Greek word for smile all those years ago, and how his white teeth had stood out from his black beard.

“I'm glad to hear it. Let me just say my goodbyes to my friend. Stay here.” He turned and walked back to his companion, gestured to me and giving some excuse. I stood frozen, praying to God for his guidance in helping me through this conversation and all other conversations with this man. I had thought of him as a memory – a dream - for too long; seeing him in the flesh thusly was bewildering. He walked back and crossed his arms over his chest and hunched over slightly, looking every inch the confident and proud man I remembered.

“Well," he said, “where would you like to go?”

Where would I like to go? I had absolutely no idea. We started walking.


	10. Chapter 10

**Yusuf**

I had no idea what to say. I had been half in love with this stranger for years, and now he was here and he was still beautiful, and we could not die. He had _found me_. God, to whom I hadn’t truly been grateful for years, received a prayer of thanks. I wanted to pull Nicolo to me, to put my lips to his, sink to my knees and suck his cock, fuck him, hold his hand, pull his hair, fight him, hold him; everything, everything. I felt his eyes on me. I did none of those things.

Instead I bumped his shoulder with my own and said in Arabic, “How did you find me?”

He blushed slightly and looked away, cleared his throat.

“I don’t know how to describe it," he said, "I just knew where you were. It sounds mad, I know."

“It doesn’t, especially. I had a feeling you were trying to find me.”

“Did you?” he said, sounding genuinely surprised.

“I did.” We briefly split to go around a slow old man. I thought, _We will never look like that_. I looked at Nicolo, and realized he would understand. What a miracle, that we were the same.

“Do you think either of us will ever be like that?” I nodded back at the old man.

He paused, thinking. “I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I don’t think we will.”

“It’s unnatural.” He seemed to say it more to himself than to me.

“Is it? It might be more natural than we think. Perhaps there are more like us.”

“Do you think?” he asked, cocking his head. “I’ve often wondered.” He looked at me with those eyes that haunted me nightly, and it felt natural indeed. All of it felt natural; this easy conversation after so long apart, the way we'd fallen into step next to each other, the calm he always seemed to bring with him. _I've missed you,_ I thought. _I've felt so alone, all of these years._

“It’s nice to be able to actually speak to each other," he said with a smile, switching topics, taking me back to that day in the woods.

“Oh, I don’t know," I responded, "I got very good at charades over the years, just in case I bumped into you again.” He laughed and I felt my chest loosen.

“I swore I'd learn Greek, after that day in the forest. It was horrible, wasn’t it? I’m sure you thought I was an idiot.”

“No,” I responded. “Not an idiot. Perhaps…” _Can you tease this man?_ I wondered, “perhaps just ill-educated.”

He scoffed. “My father would die all over again to hear that. I had an expensive education.”

We looked at each other again, as we reached the river in the center of town. There was a lull in the conversation as I walked us over to a low stone wall, where we sat, quietly watching the deep blue water rush past. I had so many things to ask him, and now he could actually answer. My mind raced with possibilities, but I found that the most pressing question of all was this: What did he mean by the fact that he was here 'to find me'? I hoped against hope it meant that he felt something for me the way I felt for him - that the infatuation wasn't infatuation at all, but, rather, love. Or something like it. 

I swallowed against the emotion, my throat suddenly aching with it. "Why did you want to find me, Nicolo?” I asked, and then held my breath waiting for the answer.

“I…don’t know,” he finally responded before looking away from me. His hand rubbed over the stones next to his thigh, probably scratching up the gold ring that lay on his middle finger. “I had a comfortable, happy life, in Genova. I had my sister, Alessandra, and her children and their children…” he trailed off, “but I wasn’t aging. People were beginning to notice. I didn’t want to leave, but I had to.” He shrugged. “I figured you were the next stop.” He pursed his lips and cast his eyes down at his feet.

 _Next stop. So he wants to move on. Oh Yusuf, you blind romantic idiot. Dreams are not reality._ I hummed noncommittally, as I mentally picked up the broken pieces of my stupid heart.

“So what’ll be next?" I said, trying for casual, to say, _Oh, this heart? Not broken at all._ "You found me. Now what?”

“I’ve been wondering the same thing," he said, still looking at his boots. “I’ve been thinking of this day for so long I never thought past it.” We were silent once again. I cast my own gaze over him, studying the shapes of his jaw and nose, the length of his beard. His dark brown hair was long, just to his shoulders, curled around his ears, as it had been before. My fingers itched to run through the strands, to cup his neck and pull him towards me, to lay a kiss against those beautiful wide lips as I'd fantasized doing the thousands of times I'd sketched him over the years. He glanced over at me with slightly raised eyebrows. _It's your turn to say something, Yusuf._

“I’m sorry you had to leave your family,” I finally said. His face rearranged to show something like confusion on its features.

“Thank you,” he responded. “That’s a kind thing to say.”

“I’m very kind, when I’m not killing or being killed by a blue-eyed infidel.” He laughed at that.

“I always knew you were kind. You helped me get home, back then. I’ve never forgotten.” I squirmed slightly at the compliment. _He's never forgotten you_ , my idiot mind supplied.

“Always happy to help my fellow immortal," I said through a blush, embarrassed by my embarrassment.

“Do you think there are others like us?” he asked, jumping back to that unfinished topic. 

“I think there are. I can’t believe we’re the only two in the world; there are too many people,” I responded. He nodded, considering, started to say something else but quickly stopped himself. I didn’t pry. I also wondered if he dreamt of the two women as I did, but didn’t want to bring up my dreams. That way lay too many unanswerable questions: _Do you dream of fucking me, like I do you? Do you dream of laying curled together with my arms wrapped around your front? Do you remember the dream where I made you laugh so hard you cried? Was that a dream? Is this? Are you?_

“Do you think we’re being punished by God?” he asked suddenly, turning to look me in the eyes. It was startling how different his own maze of thoughts must be. 

“No. I think it’s a gift," I responded immediately. "Do _you_ think we’re being punished by God?” He hummed in something like affirmation.

“I used to, yes. I thought that God sought to curse me with eternal life so that I could remember all of the horrible things I’d done, and said, and thought. I don’t know if I believe that anymore. My sister thinks it’s a gift. She believes I should do some good with it, but I haven’t figured out what that looks like, yet.”

It was the most I’d ever heard him say. I wanted to reach out and take his hand, but instead I said, "Your sister sounds like a kind woman."

“She is,” he smiled. I thought for a moment as we looked at each other, a plan blooming behind my eyes to keep him near me.

“If you’d like to do some good, I believe I can help you. How good are you with your sword, nowadays?” He laughed in response.

“Truthfully, I have no idea. I’ve been a merchant all these years. I've barely touched my sword for decades.”

“Ah,” I said. “Well, perhaps we should work on that first.”

He smiled and said, “Perhaps we should.”

* * *

Early the next morning, Nicolo met me on the street outside of my room.

“Here," he said by way of greetings, handing me a slice of baklava. “I got this over there," he pointed out the stall, “hopefully it’s good.”

 _This is the kind of gesture someone makes for his lover. You should reward him with a kiss. Or by sliding your cock in his ass._ My thoughts and I needed to have a serious chat about appropriate times and places.

“Thank you," I said. I unwrapped it and took a bite, trying not to grimace. It was barely fine. There was better baklava in any other stall in any other market in the city. My mother made better baklava, and her baklava had been famously inedible.

“How is it?” he asked.

“Good,” I lied.

He narrowed his eyes and took a bite.

“Liar.”

I scoffed. “That is an outrageous charge, sir.”

He smiled. “Swords at dawn?”

“Swords at dawn," I agreed.

* * *

We took our horses well outside of the city, not wanting to draw undue attention to ourselves. Though Baghdad played host to many types of people, intermingling of those people happened infrequently. Blue eyes and I would stick out like sore thumbs together, especially considering our morning's activity.

I threw him a sparring stick as he dismounted, and he caught it one handed.

“Good,” I said, “You still have the reflexes of a young man.”

He laughed. _God, I love to hear him laugh_.

“I’m hardly an old man. I’ve only been on this earth for forty eight years.”

“That, my friend, is the age of an old man. If you were normal, you would be practically dead.”

He twirled his stick in his right hand, switched to his left, looking unconcerned. “And you?”

“I am old as the hills. Fifty one.”

He whistled. “Time to buy that burial shroud.”

I grinned at him. We were…joking. Laughing with each other. Oh, God above. How would I not to fall in love with this man?

I held up my stick as I would my sword, horizontally across my torso, and watched as he held his up directly in front of him, pointing up. Certainly, we had different fighting styles.

“I’ll take it easy on you, at first," I said. “Don’t hold back. I’ve been fighting for decades.”

He nodded, and lunged at me. It was as if we’d never been apart.

* * *

We did this every day for weeks, and he improved quickly. I wasn’t surprised by his progress – he’d been a fierce fighter when we’d clashed previously – but he seemed to be. His life since we’d separated, he explained, had essentially been one of leisure. He was impressed that I hadn’t forgotten my skills. I couldn’t afford to forget them, I said, and left it at that.

* * *

One day, I heard from a friend about a job for a family in the city: The father had gotten himself involved in some unfortunate business and had apparently become buried in debt. The family was being blackmailed into paying with the return of their eldest son, a boy of about nine years who'd been kidnapped a few days before. My friend told me that the family didn’t have enough to pay the blackmailers, but they did have enough for someone to return their child. Did I know of anyone who’d want to take on a job like that?

 _He said he wanted to do some good_ , I thought, the ‘he’ in question always, always being Nicolo.

Yes, I told my friend. As it happens, I did know someone who’d take a job like that.

* * *

We laid flat on our bellies on a rooftop, peering out across the street to the house the boy was being held in. It was a squat two-story building with a wall wrapped around it. There was only one entrance to the yard and a handful of guards - we were trying to figure out how many - and it would be hard to sneak into. It was late summer and it was _hot_. Sweat dropped down my brow from under my head wrapping. On days like today I questioned why I even wore it anymore, but blending in was too important to neglect it.

“I see five guards," I said. Nicolo nodded.

“Me too.”

“God, it’s hot,” I continued.

“It is,” Nicolo agreed, not taking his eyes off the house.

“After this, I say we find a bathhouse," I suggested. At that, he did look over.

“Focus, please.”

“Right, right.”

We lay there until the sun had moved enough to throw the building into some shadow. The guard at the entrance stepped away, and no one seemed to be replacing him.

“Nicolo," I whispered, "there are five. Let’s go.”

“All right, " he agreed, "let’s go.”

We climbed off the low roof, and approached the house quietly. We quickly snuck through the archway and I ran to a loaded cart in the middle of the yard, Nicolo following behind me. We crouched behind it and I stuck my head around the side to look at the house. There were two guards to the left of it, near where we’d come from, and one standing by himself to the right of it, with his back towards us. It looked like the man to the right was pissing. It was an easy decision. I pointed to the right and Nicolo nodded. I ran forward, staying low to the ground, until I got just behind him. I grabbed the guard and cut his throat. We carried the body to the corner of the yard where some barrels were stacked up and hid it. We ran to the back entrance of the building and I looked in. I couldn’t see anything; it was too dark inside, and the light outside too bright; my eyes would need time to adjust to the difference.

“I can’t see," I whispered into Nicolo’s ear, thrilling at the nearness even now. _I bet he’d like it if you licked his ear_. My thoughts still didn’t understand appropriate time or place.

He nodded, and stepped into the room.

“Hey," said a guard in surprise, and then I heard a gasp. I ran into the room. A guard lay dead and Nicolo was wiping the blood from his dagger on the body.

“Well done," I said, impressed. It had been quick and quiet.

He grinned. “Thank you.”

The boy didn’t appear to be downstairs so we crept up to the second floor. He was lying on a pallet, his arms and legs tied. When he saw us his eyes opened wide, but he did not scream. Smart boy.

“We’re here to help you," Nicolo said in Arabic. “Stay quiet and we’ll get you out.”

The boy nodded and Nicolo sliced through the ropes.

“Come on," I said, just as a guard’s head appeared at the stairs. He walked up while talking and glancing back at another guard behind him; they didn’t notice us until they were all the way up. They froze when they saw us, and we attacked, silently each choosing an opponent. My guard didn’t even have time to take out his sword before I cut him down with a quick twirl and downward slice. Nicolo’s guard was quicker; he and Nicolo clashed briefly before Nicolo got the upper hand and drove his sword through the man. The guard looked shocked at this turn of events. _I know that feeling_ , I thought.

We looked at each other. Nicolo nodded, as if to say, _I’m all right._

“Come on," I said to the poor boy again. He was trembling in the corner. “We have to go. There could be more.”

The boy nodded. We ran out, and delivered him to his parents. Job done.

As we walked away from the family’s home, coin heavy in our purses, I said, “So. Bathhouse?”

Nicolo looked down at himself. He was covered in blood. “New clothes, first. Then, yes, a bathhouse.”

I wondered if Nicolo knew he would be nude. I smiled to myself. _We have to take our pleasures where we can._


	11. Chapter 11

**Nicolo**

I had heard of the eastern bathhouses before, but my knowledge was sadly limited: I knew one bathed in them, and I knew it was somehow communal. In my life as a priest I had been scandalized by the idea, but I’d traveled enough and seen too much to be scandalized by it now.

That’s what I told myself at least, before I realized that bathhouses were in fact almost entirely communal, and quite to entirely nude.

In the changing room, men of every shape and size were in every stage of nakedness. I felt a deep blush spread over my body when Yusuf handed me a towel, and cursed the whiteness of my skin, my discomfort obvious for all to see. We found a spot to put our belongings and Yusuf attacked his head covering, sighing and running his fingers through his curling hair once it was unwound. It was the first time I’d seen his head uncovered since we’d fought so long ago. I found myself staring at the curls and turned away.

“Busy today," he said into the silence. I nodded. _You can do this. You are not at home. You are in Baghdad. You must bathe._ It was the last thought that forced my hand; I really did need to bathe.

Yusuf undid his belt and laid his sword on the ground, then reached behind him and pulled his tunic up and over his head. I briefly saw cords of defined muscle on his torso before I looked away quickly. _Unnatural_ , I reminded myself, swallowing deeply as he slid the loose trousers off. I untied my belt and laid my sword next to his. Trying to act as if taking my clothes off in public was a normal thing I did all the time; I pulled off my tunic and trousers too, hoping that no one - especially Yusuf - would notice the slight shake to my hands. I wrapped a towel around my waist and finally looked up.

Yusuf gazed at me with an unreadable look. My hands clenched at the waist of my towel involuntarily. My mouth was dry. _This is a bad idea_.

“Well, come on then," he said, picking up a basket. He led me into the bathing pools and I briefly forgot about my discomfort as I marveled at my surroundings. Thousands of jewel-like tiles in every color imaginable joined together into mosaics that stretched up to my head and ran the length of the room. Above the mosaics were detailed images of men bathing. The ceilings stretched up and up. I’d never seen anything like it.

“This is beautiful," I said to Yusuf. “We don’t have anything like this in Genova.”

“No art? I can’t believe that," he said over his shoulder. I tried not to notice how the muscles shifted under his skin as he turned back.

“No, no, we certainly have art, and we have beautiful public outdoor spaces, but I don’t believe we have any public indoor spaces. I mean, the outdoor spaces are beautiful” _–you are rambling, Nicolo_ – “but it’s almost by accident because the _buildings_ are beautiful, and the buildings are beautiful to boast, if that makes sense. It’s amazing that this was created specifically for public use.”

He nodded. “Make sense. I suppose they are very beautiful.”

He set the basket down against the wall and dropped his towel, turning to face me. “I’m getting in," he said.

I hadn’t been prepared to see his naked body, so my defenses – _You love him as a brother, you love him as a brother, you love him as a brother –_ were down. He walked to the pool and hopped in and I stood standing at the edge as frozen as any statue. In my mind’s eye, I saw the heavy slope of his shoulders, the bands of muscle across his torso, the flat dark nipples, the curve of the muscles bracketing either side of his hips. His legs were strong, and he had indentations on either side of his spine, just above his ass. I did not think upon – _his cock_ \- anything else. _These impure thoughts must be banished, Nicolo, God is watching; he knows to where your mind wanders. Unnatural._ I gritted my teeth. _His body is just like yours. It is not beautiful, it is practical. Think of God._ I breathed in slowly, thought of God, thought of my father, thought of the man’s legs jerking back and forth as he slowly choked to death. Sodomite.

It helped. I took off my towel, got into the pool and ducked under the water immediately, cleansing myself of dirt and grime, praying that my sins washed off in the water too.

“So,” said Yusuf, when I surfaced. “We make a good team.” I shot an ironic look at him. If he only knew where my thoughts had just been. He continued, “Back at the house, we fought well together, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes.”

“Want to stick together for a while? Two immortals fighting together are better than one. I think we can do more –“ he seemed to search for the words – “more _good_ together.” He ran his tongue over his lips and regarded me. He narrowed his eyes slightly and I tried not to notice how beautiful and dark his eyelashes were from the water. As with most of attempts to not notice something about Yusuf, I failed.

“Yes," I agreed finally, without really thinking about what it would mean. “I think that makes sense.” He was right; we could do more good together. 

“Good.” He pulled himself out of the pool and I tried to look everywhere else except where I wanted to.

“Nico”, he said. My eyes shot to his. Only my sister called me Nico. He threw a bar of soap at me and I caught it.

“Wash up," he said. I felt that all the cleaning in the world could not help me now.

* * *

I barely slept that night, in my little rented room, heat burning itself through me as I thought over and over again about every beautiful muscle on Yusuf's body. Though I had only seen him entirely naked briefly, the image was apparently burned behind my eyelids; I saw it whenever I closed my eyes. I replayed the moment he dropped his towel over and over again, rewriting it for my own perversions. In my mind he took off his towel and I fell to his feet and rubbed my head on his stomach, running my hands along the muscles there. I would lick the lines at his hip, kiss the dimples at the base of his spine, touch his cock and make it harden, enflame him the way he enflamed me. I hadn’t felt like this in years. It struck me that I had perhaps _never_ felt like this, not even at the height of my obsession with Yusuf all those years ago, an obsession that I could finally admit to. I did _not_ love him like a brother. In the privacy of my room, with fire running through my veins, not even God could stop my next thought: _I want to lay with him, as I would lay with a woman._

I remembered the dream from all those years ago, the way he held me down and forced me to _come_ – a phrase I’d never heard before but understood innately. I wanted to do the same to him. I wanted him to touch me, _please, please Yusuf, touch me. Make me._ I ran my hands up and down my body, imagining my hands were his, my muscles, his. I felt crazed, like I could come without even touching my cock. I thought of the kiss from that dream, licking his mouth and drinking down his tears, and thought in Yusuf’s voice, _come_ , and I did.

I lay there for a few long moments, shaking, overwhelmed, trying to catch my breath, before God came storming back in. I was disgusting, full of perverted lust, gluttonous for a sinful man, an idolator worshipping at the feet of a false god. I threw my arm over my eyes and cried.

That night I dreamt of Yusuf over and over. I would wake and castigate myself, only to fall back in. He licked the tip of my cock and looked up at me, staring in my eyes and dropping his mouth down the length until his mouth was at the base. He swallowed, and it felt like heaven. I awoke. _Nothing can compare to Heaven. Blasphemer._ I slept. He put his fingers in his mouth and then inserted them into my body, between my legs. He crooked his fingers and something along my spine lit up. I awoke. _Nicolo. Why would you even_ want _him to penetrate you there?_ I slept. Yusuf added another finger. I felt I would die; I needed him to end my suffering. I begged and pleaded and prayed. He swallowed again, and I came as if my soul was leaving my body. I awoke. I had come in truth. I sighed. _Take care Nicolo, or your soul will indeed leave your body and never return_. I slept.

* * *

The plan – _do_ _good,_ whispered Alessandra's voice– was harder to implement than I thought it would be. I suppose we both thought that we would hear of jobs that would help the young, or poor, or downtrodden, but of course we did not. We heard of jobs for wealthy men needing their wife’s lover killed, or that a valuable horse had been stolen and needed stealing back.

So we whiled away the days in Baghdad, meeting up every morning to check in and then separating. Yusuf asked me to the bathhouse a few times but I declined. It was hard enough to see him fully clothed in public; I could not risk seeing him nude again.

Instead I learned the city, visited the public gardens and libraries, cleansed myself at _other_ bathhouses –there seemed to be thousands of them – and visited what felt like every market in town. Truly, Baghdad was a stunning place. The buildings shone, the mosaics sparkled and people were kind even though I was so obviously a foreigner.

One day, as I wandered the streets eating a grape leaf, I thought, _You would never have seen this place if you had not been cursed. You would have died at that battle; your bones would now lie bleaching under the Jerusalem sun. You would never have learned this language, met a camel, eaten knafeh, or seen the stars in the desert. You would never have become friends with Yusuf._ I felt curiously happy, for the first time in a long time, content with my lot in life. It had led me here, and here was a good place to be.

As I mused, wandering through yet another market, my eyes fell upon a stall selling codexes. I opened one; it was blank. My surprise must have shown on my face, because the owner said, “You can use it however you want.”

I opened another codex, also blank. The owner moved closer to me; a fish on a line.

“You can write your thoughts, or draw, whatever you wish. The covers are wood, covered with leather from animals slaughtered under our laws; the pages vellum…” as he elucidated the finer points I thought back to a few mornings before, when I’d met with Yusuf. He had mentioned that he enjoyed drawing.

“I’ll take two,” I said, interrupting the man. “Do you have charcoal as well?”

* * *

Another week passed; my funds dwindled away. One morning, as we rode back to the city after a sparring session, Yusuf turned to me and said, “I never meant to stay here for as long as I have.”

I nodded; I knew that already from our mysterious connection.

“I’ve heard of a man organizing a journey to Kaifeng, in the Song. Apparently he’s relocating there in some diplomatic capacity, and his wife has a powerful fear of the ocean, so the family will be traveling overland.”

“Overland?” I asked, calculating the distance in my head. “That’s…”

“Insane," he interrupted, “yes, I know. It’ll take months, maybe years. I suppose he really loves his wife.”

“He must.”

“They’re looking for guards willing to make the journey. It pays well. We have nothing but time, and I’ve never seen that part of the world.” He paused and looked out over the horizon.

“Want to come with?”

I thought for a moment. _We have nothing but time._

“Yes. I do.” A smile bloomed on his face.

“Good.”

* * *

We left Baghdad a few days later. I was sad to leave it, missed the warm flavors and shimmering light already. I looked over at Yusuf, who sat relaxed but alert on his saddle, scanning the party ahead of us. _You will be safe,_ I thought. I knew it to be true.


	12. Chapter 12

**Yusuf**

In the Hulwa Pass, I lead my horse closer to Nico and said, as quietly as possible so that he could still hear me over the tread of the horses, “I died, just up here."

He turned to me with a question in his eyes and I nodded and pointed at the base of the mountains, where I’d died of starvation just a few weeks ago. “Right over there. I was traveling with a caravan and we were attacked. Everyone else was killed too. I couldn’t find any food. Starved to death.”

Nicolo looked at me seriously, and said, “I haven’t starved to death, before. It seems like a horrible way to die.”

“Your assumption is correct, my friend. I was hallucinating when I died – I'm not sure if you’ve gone that way, but it’s a tough way to go.” _I died thinking of you, of kisses so pleasurable that all I could do was be killed by them._

He hummed, and looked around to confirm that no one was listening. They weren’t. The girls were all in the caravan, Amir and Hammad were deep in conversation, and the other guards were well behind us.

“How many times have you died?” he asked softly. His words, and the way he said them, made a shiver run down my spine. It was the inflection of his voice; the way sounds rolled off his tongue with his accent; and the weight of the question tangible in the heavy silence of the looming mountains. The reminder that we were the same.

“Many times,” I responded as quietly. “Truthfully I’m not sure. Maybe…” I thought back. There was Nico three times, the time at home, the snakebite, starvation, shot with arrows, starvation again, various stabbings… “Ten? Eleven?” I chuckled. “I need to start keeping a record.”

He smiled, in the way I was beginning think of as _Nico’s smile_. It was small, private, and somehow sad, as if his laughter was something he preferred to keep a secret. As the smile faded I noted the motion of his body on his horse, taking in the rolling of his hips and the subtle flex of his arms and legs: the rhythm of a mysterious body and its mysterious owner. I wanted to know so much more about both; the body, and the man. The wind lifted his hair in the breeze.

“What about you? How many times have you been embraced by your lord and savior?” I asked.

He shot me an unreadable look at that, and said, “Three.”

“Just three? You weren’t lying when you said you were wealthy.” He laughed – a real laugh, out loud and utterly charming. I never wanted him to stop, so I continued. “I’ve been dropping dead at every point on the map while you were out living a life of leisure, not dying even once.”

“Well, I’m here now,” he chuckled, and flashed Nico’s Smile at me. "No longer wealthy at all." He caught my gaze and my mind became blurry - I felt something similar to intoxication looking into his eyes, with their ever changing colors, because I thought I saw something there, something I'd seen before - at the bath house, and when we'd seen each other again for the first time in Baghdad. _He's looking at you like you're as fascinating to him as he is to you_ , my traitorous mind supplied. I looked away - I couldn’t let him see my hopeful open heart, and besides, I was seeing things that were not there.

Then I realized: Three times. I looked back at him. “Am I the only reason you’ve died?”

“Well,” he said, with a little smile, _“really,_ you only killed me twice. The third time I let myself be killed. Arrows. At Ashkelon. I realized that killing you that last time hadn’t cured me of my curse so I decided to just let myself die. Figured I’d snooze through the rest of the battle.” I laughed at that, startled and pleased by his wry comment. His sense of humor continued to surprise. He continued, “But I haven’t died since then. I’m somewhat worried about it." He cleared his throat and gazed up at the peaks around us. “What if I stay dead this time? What if this _thing_ we have is like a muscle I haven’t used for too long? One that's atrophied?”

I considered it. _It’s possible,_ I thought. _You don’t_ really _know how any of this works_. I started to say, _maybe_ , but, he was looking at me, and I read concern in his eyes. I didn’t want him to worry. I never wanted him to worry.

“No,” I said. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“Why not?”

I considered it. “You know your feeling, that you followed to find me? It’s like that. I just…feel it. You’ll come back.”

He smiled enigmatically. I thought, _You’ll kill me again if you keep smiling at me like that_. Our horses kept up their pace.

* * *

The best part of the journey so far was something I’d hated in previous expeditions: The forced intimacy. The last week or so in Baghdad, Nicolo and I lost the easy friendship that had immediately followed our reunion, and I had missed it and him powerfully, for all that I saw him every day. The small, secret, hopeful part of my heart wished it was because he needed to stay away from me after the bathhouse, lest he be overwhelmed by his powerful lust for me (I couldn’t even think the thought without laughing at myself – _so dramatic, Yusuf)_ ; my practical side figured that he was the type of man who preferred to be on his own, but circumstances had forced us into close proximity and he was just doing his best. So, I had given him his space. Now that we were traveling across the world together, though, I didn’t need to worry that he would leave. I _couldn’t_ give him space. It was pathetic, but it was true: I was glad that he was stuck with me.

“Yusuf!” I was lifted from my reverie and turned in the saddle to locate the source. Hammad, the cook, urged his horse into a trot to catch up with me. He was slightly older than myself – _he’s probably younger, actually_ ; a startling thought – and a bit pudgy. The fact that he shared a name with my former lover had made me wary of him, as I didn't like any reminders of home, but he seemed to be a nice enough man.

“Yusuf. I have a question," he said as his horse drew level with mine.

“And I’m sure I have an answer," I responded.

“Your friend – he mentioned a while back that he’s good with a bow and arrow. Do you think he’d be willing to shoot some game?”

I shot him a puzzled look. “I’m sure he would be, but why don’t you just ask him yourself?”

“I would, but he’s so quiet. I don’t think he likes me very much.”

“Hammad, he likes you fine. He’s just not one to offer up his thoughts easily.”

“Hm. If you say so.”

“I do. Get to know him a bit; you’ll like him. He’s funny.”

He raised his eyebrows and the look in his eyes said to me, _I don’t believe you._ I laughed again.

“Fine, fine, you don’t have to believe me. He is though." I paused, considering, "He’s not Muslim, you know? So I'm sure he'd be willing to hunt for us, but I don't believe you'd be willing to eat what he'd bring us.” This was a gamble, to draw attention to the fact that we had a non-believer in our midst, but the rest of the party seemed to like Nicolo well enough and frankly, I would have feel too guilty if I caused the rest of the party to break dhabihah with my omission. Old habits.

“Ah," said Hammad. He turned and looked at Nicolo, who was riding behind us a bit, assessing him with new eyes. I watched him watch Nicolo. He took in the beard and the robes, noted his unusually shaped sword. “I suppose I should have realized," he said after a moment, “his eyes are very blue.” I breathed a sigh of relief.

“True," I smiled. “Also, Hammad, his name is _Nicolo di Genova._ Was that not perhaps a clue?”

“I didn’t want to assume anything,” he said, surprisingly primly for a man of his age and bulk. I scoffed.

“Well," he said after a moment, “I don’t suppose you’d be up for it instead?”

“Are your arms broken?” I said, and looked him all over.

“I have to cook!” he sputtered, “I’m not a _great_ shot, to tell the truth, and besides I -“

“Hammad," I interrupted, laughing. “Hammad! Stop. I’m just playing with you. Of course I’ll help.”

* * *

That night, I turned to Nicolo as we ate and said, “Hammad wants our help with hunting.”

He raised his eyebrows at me and swallowed his stew. “What, are his arms broken?”

I burst out laughing. “Nico, that is _exactly_ what I said to him! Exactly.”

He smiled, said, “Really?”

“Yes! Really," I confirmed, chuckling. "I told him you were funny, too, but he didn't seem to believe me."

"I'm very offended," Nicolo responded wryly.

"I also told him you're not Muslim, by the way. He seemed to be all right with it."

"Ah," he said. "Pieces are falling into place. He started up a conversion with me today, which he has never done before. Perhaps he wished to ascertain if I had horns or not."

I smiled at him and we sat in silence for a moment. _He_ is _funny. Hammad doesn't know what he's missing._

“He’s a nice man, Hammad," I finally said, as my spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl.

“He is," agreed Nicolo. “I wasn’t sure if you liked him, when you met.” His eyes narrowed, looking at me. I avoided his gaze. I had thought Nicolo had perhaps caught my reaction to first learning Hammad's name - it was an involuntary wince; a grimace of recognition - but he had not asked.

“Hammad…” I trailed off. “Hammad was the name of someone from home.”

“You didn’t like this Hammad?”

“I –“ _quick, you idiot, ‘we used to fuck and I was stoned to death by my friends and family when we were caught’ is not an acceptable answer_ , “- no. I didn’t like him.”

Nico's eyes narrowed further, clearly understanding there was something I wasn’t saying; fortunately, he decided to let me have my secrets.

“In that case,” he said, standing and pouring the last of his stew from his bowl onto the ground, “let’s go find him. He promised to teach me some card game that’s based entirely on bluffing. I think he thinks that because I used to be a priest I’ll be terrible at it, but he doesn’t have any idea how good I am at lying.” He smiled to himself.

_A priest?_

“You were a priest?” I asked. How had I never known?

He looked at me in surprise. “I was. I’ve never mentioned it?”

“No! I think I would remember something like that.”

“Huh," he said, sounding puzzled, and sat back down. “Well, I was. Before I came here for the first time, before we met. I was a priest for the parish and when the call went out to join the holy war, I volunteered.” He pulled up his knees and looped his arms around them, looking contemplative. He glanced at me. I was staring open mouthed at him, saying nothing.

“Is it so shocking?” It was barely a whisper, and he clenched at his arms as if protecting himself. I made an effort to close my mouth.

It _was_ shocking. A priest. He just seemed so open, and comfortable with different religions, and all priests seemed to be zealots to me now. Priests were there the day I was murdered back home; they'd encouraged the mob. I considered his rage when we first met. He had been so different, then. Harder and angrier, not the kind man that now sat before me. I had assumed he’d changed with age, but now I thought that perhaps his distance from the church was part of his new calm.

And he didn't even seem especially religious, now. I never saw him praying. How was he a priest? Did that explain his obvious discomfort with my naked body, at the bathhouse? Perhaps that hadn't been lust as I'd hoped, but disgust. He’d been a merchant though; surely he’d seen nudity before… Had he been married? How had I not asked? He’d arrived alone and that’s all that had mattered, I hadn’t even thought…. Had he _ever_ seen a naked body? God above. Was he a virgin? No, surely that wasn’t possible, he was too pretty. But he’d never mentioned a woman before, had he? Just his sister. My brain swirled with questions, felt full to bursting.

Nico had looked away from me and drawn his knees closer to his chest as the number of internal questions mounted and the silence grew; I could tell he was worried by my reaction.

“Forgive my silence, my friend, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” I finally said, “but, yes, I am surprised.”

“It was a long time ago,” he said quietly.

“Not so very long," I countered.

“No, I suppose not,” he agreed, and then sighed. “I was the third son. My eldest brother was to take over the business, my other brother was trained as well, and I was very much the spare. I did struggle with some of the doctrine, but generally I enjoyed being a priest. It felt like I brought comfort to people. It also…” he trailed off and cleared his throat, “it also made me feel like I could prove myself worthy of God’s love, as a priest, like He was my father in truth.”

“You didn’t feel worthy of his love outside of the priesthood?”

He sighed and hung his head, let his arms go and clasped his wrists, watched his hands. He looked so forlorn; I wished more than anything that I could hold him to myself and offer up my comfort. “I barely felt worthy of His love in it, but, yes, it was…easier. There’s less temptation, away from the world.” He looked up at the stars and I watched the firelight play on his upturned throat. _Temptation_. The word shimmered in my head.

“When I came home it was impossible for me to continue – I had to take care of my family – but I always kept my vows.” He sighed and looked at me. “But it’s worth it. It must be. The suffering only makes the reward that much greater.”

 _He tried to keep his vows._ I stared at his lips and shivered slightly with the sudden realization that he'd never been with someone. I wondered what he hadn't felt. The wet heat of another's mouth on his own? Sliding down his cock? Fingers clutching in his hair, a bite against his neck... Would he be selfish, I wondered, greedy to feel everything after so long without, or would he be cautious and slow? I hoped the former. 

He was still staring at me, expecting a response. I desperately pushed away my inappropropriate thoughts. This was not the time.

“I suppose you're correct, that suffering makes the reward greater,” I said slowly, collecting my thoughts. “But, Nicolo, how long until you reach your reward? If you will not die…why continue to suffer?” The words were almost purely selfish; I wanted him, but if he thought abstaining made him more worthy of God's love... 

His face shuttered; I instantly felt that I had made some grave misstep, that something was lost to me.

“So, we just give up what we’ve lived for, because we cannot die? Stop trying to improve ourselves? Suffering proves to God that we love Him.” He looked furious, and I was shocked by it – I had no idea he held such strong convictions until just moments ago, and I had no idea what to say. He struggled to his feet and I did the same.

“I can’t -” he breathed in deeply, obviously on the verge of tears “- I cannot continue this conversation.”

I reached out to grab his arm, thinking to make him stay, to hear me out - but he jerked away. There was fear in his eyes, wild and sharp. "Don't touch me." The words were hard and cold, and I flinched against them as surely as if he'd slapped me. He blinked, and seemed to come back to himself somewhat.

“It’s all right," he finally said. “I just need to think.”

He turned and walked away from camp. I stared until the darkness swallowed him whole.


	13. Chapter 13

**Nicolo**

I walked for a long time. I felt incredibly embarrassed by my reaction to our conversation; it had been outsized and overly dramatic. It had just…scared me. All of it scared me. _Yusuf_ scared me. He scared me with his easy repudiation of my beliefs, his laughter, the way he _looked_ at me, the things he made me think. My belief in God scared me too, standing as it did on shaking legs. I had suffered for Him and suffering should have proven my love, but it never made anything better. But who was I, if I was not a God-fearing man? What would I become?

_If you will not die, why continue to suffer?_

I stopped walking and sat in the grass, looking out at the mountains as the moon and clouds cast dark shadows upon them. Beautiful and unknowable, like…

“Like God," I muttered to myself. But of course I really meant, like Yusuf.

_What are you going to do, Nicolo?_

* * *

A few days later I found myself at the fire, eating breakfast with two of the other guards, Malik and Ali. We were about a day outside of Tehran, the first major city we’d come across since we’d left Baghdad, and they were discussing women. Specifically, whores. Even more specifically, which whore in which whorehouse they would visit once we arrived, and in what order. It was a very specific conversation.

It was also the kind of conversation I always dreaded; no way for me to inconspicuously absent myself, and nothing I could say that wouldn’t tip me off as a virgin. _At least you don’t look your actual age_ , I thought. True.

“Nicolo,” said Malik, “have you been through Tehran?”

“No," I said, taking a bite of my lavash.

“No? Oh, you are missing out my friend. There’s one place – my favorite – where you can whip the whores.”

Akil scoffed, “You are a pervert, Malik.”

I said nothing, taking another bite of the bread.

“Nothing perverted about it, my friend. If you pay enough, you can line them up and go down the line.” Malik smiled, looking as if he relished the thought. I grimaced. This conversation was even worse than I’d expected.

Yusuf appeared at the fire, having just woken up, and grabbed a piece of lavash.

“What’re you talking about?” he asked through a yawn.

“How much of a pervert Malik is,” responded Akil.

“Shut it, Akil,” Malik said dreamily, “you’ll be singing a different tune tomorrow.”

“What’re you doing tomorrow?” asked Yusuf.

“Going to a whorehouse,” I interjected dryly. Yusuf looked at me and raised his eyebrows.

“Are you?” he said. I could tell he was just asking me.

Before I could respond, Malik said, “He is! Aren’t you Nicolo?”

I hesitated, then said, “No.” Yusuf smiled at me. I felt myself blushing.

Malik said, “Why not, Nicolo? Are you scared?” Apparently he wasn’t going to let this go so easily.

Before I could come up with a response, Yusuf said casually, “ _He’s_ not scared. It’s the women who should be scared.”

Malik and Akil both looked surprised at the statement.

“Why?” asked Akil.

“Well, you know, we’ve been traveling together for a long time, me and Nicolo.” He took a bite of his lavash and looked at me. “Close quarters, sometimes, you know how it is…” he paused, leaned in and said conspiratorially, “his cock is _enormous_.”

Malik guffawed and Akil looked dubious.

“You lie," said Akil, looking me up and down. I could feel myself blushing even more. This was a nightmare.

“I don’t, but I’m sure he’d show it to you, if you asked nicely," said Yusuf, with an evil grin. Akil’s mouth snapped shut.

Malik clapped his hands together in utter delight, still laughing. “Oh he shut you right up, Akil. You should see your face!” he said, starting to walk away, chuckling to himself. “I knew I liked you two,” he shouted over at us as he started to take down his tent, still laughing. Akil walked away too, with an annoyed backward glance.

I watched Yusuf’s smile slide off his face when he saw my own stone-faced expression. Perhaps he'd been trying to protect me - he must have understood what I'd implied when I told him that I kept my vows during our spat a few nights before - and a small part of me was touched that he would jump to direct the conversation away from the topic of sex, but a larger part of me was irritated. I could have handled myself; I'd been doing it for almost fifty years.

I sat and he stood in the now quiet early morning air, very pointedly not looking at each other.

“You didn’t have to say that, you know.”

“I know.”

We were silent again.

“I thought to help you get out of that conversation," he murmured, mindful of our traveling companions who were packing up camp around us. 

My stomach churned at the confirmation that he knew that I was unpracticed, and I felt my posture straighten with irritation. “I could have gotten out of it myself, without lying about my…” I paused, “my _enormous cock.”_ I spat out the words, getting angrier and angrier. Who did he think he was, trying to protect me? Lying for me? _He_ was a skillful liar, a nonbeliever who mocked my own beliefs, and wasn't shameful to be a virgin anyways, it was Godly and good, and –

“I know, Nico," he said, interrupting my thoughts. “I’m sorry. I wanted to help, but I overstepped.”

All of the fight went out of me and embarrassment came flooding in. _He knows,_ I thought.

“I know. I know you were just trying to-" _he knows_ , I thought wildly “- to help spare me embarrassment.” I wanted to die I was so mortified. _Can one die of mortification? Add it to the list._

I finally looked up at Yusuf, trying to communicate that I forgave him for everything without wanting to say the words. I was tired of being angry and distant with him, these past few days. He crouched down and looked at the dirt between his legs, idly doodling with his finger. I watched his hands and tried not to imagine them on me. I thought of the codex burning a hole in my bag.

He stopped doodling and looked me directly in the eyes, his brown eyes searching mine. Nervousness twisted in my belly at the look, like a snake was awakening upon scenting its first sin. “For the record, I don’t think that it’s embarrassing that you’ve never been with a woman," he said quietly. “I’ve never been with one either.” He cocked his head slightly and leaned in closer. "A woman, I mean." The snake in my belly coiled tighter. _He's been with a man_ , it hissed. My neck felt hot and my limbs and lungs tight with what I innately knew was anticipation. I was moments from trembling. I looked all over his face, trying to understand his intentions. Yusuf just stared back, and I knew that he was telling me something that I should understand. After a moment, his gaze dropped to my lips. _Kiss me,_ I thought. He stood and walked to his tent. He didn't look back.

I sat and stared into the fire for a long time after that.

* * *

Many, many days later I was sitting on my horse, seeing with unseeing eyes a beautiful landscape spread out before me. I saw but did not see a wide open grassy plain far beneath us, blindly noticed the snow on the peaks and a lake with clear dark blue water. I did not see anything else, because all I could see was the look on Yusuf's face from that morning. _I've never been with one either. A woman, I mean._ His words had wound their way into me; had entangled themselves with everything I thought I was, before I met him. Whenever I thought about that moment, about his heavy lidded eyes and his softly spoken confession, my belly would clench and my heart speed up. It was hot and heavy, what I felt. Damning. I had wanted him to kiss me. If he had tried, I would have let him. Admitting it, even just to myself made me feel too many things at once; my hands trembled and my throat felt tight. Shame, desire, terror, hope. 

But above all, I distrusted it. What did I know of desire? I had barely experienced it in my decades on this earth, and what I had experienced had been mainly fantasy, easily dismissed. Would a man like Yusuf - one who was well-muscled and kind, who made friends wherever he went - desire one such as myself? 

And if he did desire me, where did that lead us? God would not approve. Society would not approve. We might live forever - was it worth the risk to act on whatever _might be_ between us and _hope_ that it would not end in tears? And if it did end badly, would we simply never see each other again? The only other immortal?

It was overwhelming. 

I thought again of him drawing shapes in the dirt and remembered the codex I'd purchased for him in Baghdad. If we could not, or should not, act on our desire - if it even _was_ desire - I could at least extend the gift to him in friendship. He was a friend, at the very least.

That night I wrote on the front page:

_To Yusuf, my dear friend._

_-Nico._

_Somewhere in the Zagros mountains. 1117._

I didn’t write anything else. I was scared of what I would say.

* * *

The landscape had changed back to desert by the time I worked up the courage to give it to him. It was colder in the morning, and my breath appeared in the air as I walked over to where he packed up his horse. He was securing his bedroll to its back when he noticed me.

“Morning," he said, looking over, smiling at me when he noticed my breath. “Cold, isn’t it? Isn’t it wonderful? If I never sweat again I’ll die a happy man.”

I laughed. “Considering you can’t die, I’d place a bet that you’ll be sweaty again, someday.”

He looked at me with a smirk, noticed the codex as he finished securing everything.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“This is for you.” I handed it to him. “I know you like to draw, so I figured you might like it.” I handed him the pieces of charcoal as well. “These too. You’ll have to sharpen them, of course, I didn’t do that, but I saw it” – _you’re talking too much, Nicolo_ – “and just…thought you’d like it.” I shut up and looked at him. He was staring at the book in his left hand as his right hand gently rubbed the cover. Finally he looked up at me.

“Thank you," he said. He was deadly serious; the usual mirth gone, and there was something beautifully soft in his eyes. “This is…” he trailed off, apparently at a loss. Yusuf, who always had something to say. “Thank you.”

“You two coming?” shouted Malik from his horse. Everyone else was packed and waiting. Yusuf turned away from me and put my gifts in one of the saddlebags.

“You should saddle up," he said. "Long day ahead.”

 _Indeed_ , I thought. _A very long day indeed._


	14. Chapter 14

**Yusuf**

A few days after Nicolo gave me his extraordinary gift, word came down from Amir that we would be camping for a day or two so that the children, who were all ill from some digestive issue, could rest. I didn’t especially like it – we were particularly exposed on this high desert plain, but Amir was the boss.

So, we had a rare day of leisure.

* * *

I sat a good distance away from the rest of the group, sketching the mountains we’d come from a week or so before. The land here was completely flat all the way to the base of the peaks in the distance, which rose abruptly up from the lifeless plain. There was nothing especially interesting to look at besides the mountains; the landscape mainly consisted of short scraggly yellow bushes and an occasional short scraggly green tree, all of which looked like they’d never even heard the word ‘water’.

Behind me, I heard two footsteps, then a bag hitting the ground.

“You were very quiet. I hope you’re not here to kill me," I said, continuing my sketch.

“Not this time," said Nicolo, dropping to sit next to me. He looked over at the work in progress and hummed. “That’s very good.”

“Thank you,” I said. “It’s not an especially inspiring vista, but we make do.” 

He looked out over the landscape. “It isn’t, is it? I can think of many more places we’ve been through so far that would’ve made a nicer stop.”

I glanced over at his profile, observed the curve to his nose, the fine lines radiating from the corner of his eye, the movement of his thick dark hair in the wind. _I’d like to draw you instead_ , I thought.

“Your beard’s getting long," I said.

“I know," he responded. “It’s fucking itchy.”

I laughed. “Shave it, then.”

He glanced over at me. “That wouldn’t be a problem?”

I waved my hand as if to say, _don’t worry about it._ “Everyone knows you’re not Muslim. We’re about to travel into parts of the world where we’ll all look foreign. It’d be fine.”

“Hmmm," he said, running his fingers through his beard. “I might, then.”

He turned and began rummaging through his bag; pulled out a knife, a leather strop, and a jar.

“What, right now?” I asked.

“I told you, it’s been driving me mad and I happen to have what I need. Besides, what else would I be doing today?”

He ran the blade against the leather to sharpen it and I kept sketching, trying not to think about how intimate it would be to watch him shave.

After a few minutes I heard the sound of the blade against his skin, and the sound – _sccccritch, scccritch, scritch_ – lifted the hair at the back of my neck. I looked over just as the blade slid off the angle of his jaw to expose soft white skin. I quickly looked away and shifted so that my cock was better hidden by the angle of my legs and my book. I tried to convince myself to ignore what was happening next to me and to keep sketching, but every ounce of my attention was on that blade, and that sound. _Scriiiitch, scritch, scritch._ My cock hardened further and I felt myself becoming short of breath. I realized that my hands were shaking slightly; that I could feel every thread in my robes against my skin. My heart was beating faster. _God above, what is happening to you? You haven’t even touched him, Yusuf._ I breathed in slowly through my nose, trying to temper my reaction.

I felt a tap of the knife on my shoulder and turned to see him holding it by the blade, handle towards me. The beard was mainly gone but there was still heavy stubble, especially at his neck.

“Can you help? It’s difficult doing this without a mirror, and I can tell it’s uneven.”

My mind raced. No, I couldn’t help him. I’d show my hand; he’d see the state I was in.

He smiled at me, and it was absent of lust. _He doesn’t feel the same way._

“I won’t bite," he said, looking me in the eyes. _Yes he does._

“Of course," I responded, as casually as I’d ever said anything in my life. I moved myself in front of him and took the blade, smeared some of the cream from the jar on his left cheek, tilted his head back, and drew the edge up along his skin.

“What is this stuff?” I asked. It smelled odd.

“Animal fat," he responded, as I pulled the knife away. _Good for lubrication_ , I mused. I wiped the dagger on the leather strop at my side.

My left hand cradled his skull so that I could maneuver his head to cut closer to the grain, and the feel of the silky strands of his hair against my fingers curled hunger, hot and greedy, down my spine. I focused on keeping my hand completely still, on not turning the touch into the caress I needed it to be. I tried not to think about all of the things I wanted to do.

I rubbed the cream on the left side of his neck and moved up onto my knees for a better angle. His head tilted up and I looked down into his eyes.

His eyes searched mine. “This reminds me of Jerusalem," he muttered. I instantly knew what he meant: The time I’d stood above him and cut his throat in the shadow of the synagogue. My thoughts mixed together and that terrible memory transformed into something unbearably erotic. My hand on the blade shook slightly as lust – pure and stronger than I’d ever felt – coursed through me. Desire felt like a tangible thing between us, vibrating in the air. He made a small distressed sound and I looked down to see a small jewel of blood blooming against his skin. I’d nicked his skin.

I immediately dropped the blade at my side and brought my hand up to his throat, my thumb at the wound. I hadn’t meant to hurt him, couldn’t bear the thought.

“I’m sorry,” I muttered, and put my lips to the spot. He sucked in a sharp breath. “I’m sorry,” I said again against his skin, opening my mouth to lick up his neck to his jaw. I could feel his blood pulsing through the vein I traced below my tongue. My own pulse raced, my breath coming faster.

He moaned, then, and I thought I might come from the sound alone. I looked into his face; his mouth was open, his eyebrows drawn together, eyes closed. _Kiss me,_ writ large.

 _Beloved_ , I thought. _I have waited my whole life for this._

Slowly, still slightly unsure, I put my lips to his, and it felt like I was falling into him. Like what was elementally Yusuf was blending with what was elementally Nico. _Bliss._ I parted his lips with my own and when our tongues lightly touched I moaned brokenly, the feeling too much to keep inside. He shivered, and my shaky lust sharpened into desire. I held his jaw firmly and imagined he might hold me in the same way as he fucked into me. I felt light-headed and full of longing, clutching at his hair, grasping possessively at each tentative stroke of his tongue. His hand slid into my hair and I moaned at the sensation.

At that his eyes flew open, and I felt his hand at my chest, pushing me away lightly. He must have felt my heart beating underneath his hand, bursting with now-dashed hope. _Not again_ , I thought, remembering the dream from all those years ago. _Please._ I tried to hold on but he broke away.

“Yusuf," he muttered. I put my head on his shoulder, unable to pull away completely, and focused on steadying my breath.

“Yusuf,” he said again, more firmly, and I felt a light touch on my back. “Yusuf, you have to let me go. Anyone could see.”

He was right. We were far away but not invisible. I’d forgotten about everything else.

I pulled myself from him and sat back, putting my weight against my heels. I knelt in salah, the object of my prayers in front of me, my personal Mecca. He sighed.

“I’ve wanted that for a long time," he sighed. My eyes snapped up to his. ”More than I ever should have," he continued, “but I don’t know…I don’t know if I can do this.” He stood up.

I was dimly aware of his movements as he collected his blade, leather strop and jar and threw them into his bag. It felt as if it was happening from very far away. He stopped moving and said, “Yusuf…” I didn’t respond, so he said, “I’m sorry”, and walked away.

I sat there for a long time. The skies clouded over and then sunlight broke through; the sun began to set. I thought through everything. I felt, perhaps, every emotion God granted humanity. What I was left with, was the way the simplest of kisses had made me _feel_. I had felt, for the briefest of moments when he kissed me back, at peace.

Perhaps this was the trade for everlasting life – no peace in death, but peace in life. Peace with Nicolo.

* * *

That night we studiously avoided conversation with each other, which was simple enough. The children were feeling better, and we were all relieved about that, so there was lots of chattering and laughter; humanity wilfully ignoring the spectre of death. At one point Malik and Akil performed an on the spot jig that sent the girls into paroxysms of delight, sending their screams of laughter up to fill the sky above the empty plain. I caught Nico looking at me occasionally, but I ignored it as best I could.

We slept next to each other, a few feet between our bedrolls, as we did every night. When I awoke, the morning felt different. I turned towards Nico and opened my eyes, and saw my beloved staring back.


	15. Chapter 15

**Nicolo**

During the long journey from Bukhara to Samarkand, I wrestled long and hard with both God and myself. I wanted Yusuf. I had wanted him for weeks - _years_ \- and after our kiss in the field I knew that he, at the very least, desired me as well. I wondered what I would have let him do if I hadn’t remembered our surroundings, if I hadn’t panicked. I had the uncomfortable realization that the answer was: Everything. Anything.

I tried to ignore it for weeks after, desperately lied to myself, telling myself that my feelings were simply lustful desires of the flesh; hoping that, as all such desires do, they would fade. Mine would fade for him, and his for me, and we could continue on as friends. Friendship, God could approve of. What we'd done in the field, he could not.

I couldn't stop thinking about what it had felt like, though, and every time I caught his gaze, I knew he was thinking the same. I wanted to ask him if it always felt like that. I had a worrying feeling that it did not.

The land outside Samarkand was peaceful, a direct contradiction to my own turbulent feelings. Verdant green fields ran down to the river that bubbled next to the road, its water looking clear and cool. We passed by a high walled garden; I could hear a cistern of water gurgling inside. _Like the Garden of Eden_ , I thought. _And I am on the outside of the wall, sinner that I am._ I was beginning to come to the conclusion that God made me morbid.

My eyes found Yusuf. He rode ahead, and was laughing at something Malik said. I could imagine what his his smile looked like, hiding behind his beard, the way his neck worked when he laughed in that full-throated way he had. An image flashed in my mind of pulling his hair back and licking from the base of his neck to his jaw. I sighed at my thoughts. I could try lie to myself all I wanted, but the truth came out practically every time I looked at him.

Amir looked over and said, “You seem especially contemplative today.” He’d been riding beside me the entire time – I hadn’t noticed.

“Do I?” I responded, trying to school my features.

“You do," he paused, “would you care to talk about it?”

“I…I'm not sure it would be appropriate.” _If only he knew how inappropriate it was._

“Is it a girl?” he guessed. He smiled broadly at the look on my face. “It is!” He chuckled. “I’d know that look anywhere.”

“Perhaps," I responded.

“Tell me," he said. “We have days and days yet till Samarkand and I am an old married man. I’ll have to live vicariously through you.”

I laughed, “A lady never tells.”

“Cheeky. You know they all do. And so shall you. What’s her name?”

“Ah –“ I said the first female name that came into my head, “Alessandra.” I grimaced internally.

“Alessandra: a beautiful name. She’s a girl from back home?” he asked.

“Yes.” _No one can ever know about this._

His horse whinnied and he pulled on her reins some; calming her down.

“Well?” he continued. “I’m sure she’s beautiful.”

“Yes. She is beautiful.” I smiled at him, hoping the conversation could end. I’d lied about quite a lot in my time, but I couldn’t possibly look this man in the face and describe my sister as my lover.

“Tell me about her!” he laughed. I sighed and thought of Yusuf.

“She… has lovely skin, and black hair and she…she laughs easily. She makes me laugh.”

“And you are not usually one to laugh easily," Amir supplied. After months on the road, he knew me well enough to know that was true.

“No. I’m not, not with most people," I agreed. “When I’m with her, I feel I can be myself, completely. She…makes me feel at peace.”

He smiled. “Like everything is all right.” He nodded. “That’s how Fatima makes me feel.”

His wife was a lovely, round woman, who seemed to be always laughing. On a long journey such as this, laughter was always welcome; I liked her enormously.

“We’re making this trip for her, I understand.”

“We are. She’s terrified of the ocean; most of her family died in a storm in the Mediterranean. She survived. Hasn’t set foot on a boat since.”

“I’m sorry to hear that," I said.

“Yes, the loss was terrible. Of course, her fear was never a problem in Baghdad, but being offered this position… Well, it would take a lot less time to get there on a ship. But I couldn’t do that to her, and I couldn’t leave her.”

“No?” I asked.

“No. She is my sun; if she weren’t with me I would wither.” He looked over at me knowingly. “You wouldn’t leave your love, if they could be with you, would you?”

“No,” I said, looking at Yusuf as he rode ahead. “I suppose I wouldn’t.”

* * *

That night I laid on my bedroll looking up at the stars, and thought of the long ago night in Jerusalem, before the battle when I died for the first time. I remembered lying next to my friend Alessandro – God rest him - and feeling so _hopeless_. So lost, and angry. Much had changed, but perhaps I had changed most of all. The anger - the feeling that I would never be good enough for God’s love - that had driven me for so long, was gone. Age and time had surely calmed me somewhat, but the peace I often felt now - so different from the jittery unease I'd carried with me for most of my life - _that_ was new. I was beginning to suspect that the genesis of that peace was Yusuf.

He appeared as if he’d been summoned, and looked down at me where I lay.

“Hello," I said.

“Hello," he responded. It was the first time we’d spoken since that day in the field.

He sat down on his bedroll and pulled out his sketchbook, crossed his knees, and began to draw. It was full night, and though there was a fire in the middle of camp and the stars were out, it was dark.

“How can you see enough to draw?” I asked.

“I could draw this with my eyes closed," he responded.

“Oh? What’s that?”

“You," he said simply, and looked me in the eyes. My breath caught, dazzled by the serious look. We stared at each other for a moment and then he went back to drawing.

“I – “ I stopped. I had no idea what to say. I looked up at the stars again. _Courage._ “I’m sorry for my behavior, that day in the field.” I turned my head to look at him, but he was still sketching. “I…I panicked. This is…this is very difficult, for me.” I looked back up at the stars; it was easier to look there than at Yusuf. “This – whatever this is – is a sin.” I looked back over. Yusuf was staring at me, his head cocked slightly. “I know I should not want it, but I do.”

His eyes roamed over my face. “I would be damned a thousand times over, just to touch you again," he said seriously and I laughed shakily.

“What a thing to say.”

“It’s true," he said.

“Very romantic,” I said dryly, trying to sidle away from how he was making me feel.

“It is," he agreed. He still stared at me.

“I… thank you.” I did not know how else to respond.

“’Thank you’, he says," he chuckled slightly. The tension diffused somewhat, but I still felt something shimmering between us. He leaned forward slightly and drew his hand through my hair. I sighed into the soft touch and closed my eyes before his hand pulled away, too quickly; mindful of the people around us.

“We can go as slow as you need to, Nico. I can wait."

I looked up at the stars. It really was a lovely night.

* * *

After that, we were able to navigate back to something like normal. We would ride together or with others on the road, we helped Hammad with cooking and hunting, we listened to the children chattering away, we tried not to roll our eyes at Malik and Akil's buffoonery, we slept near each other every night.

There was no privacy, so there was no touching. This both pleased and frustrated me: I wanted to touch Yusuf all the time, but I was terrified.

* * *

Just before our arrival at Samarkand, it started raining, and it didn’t stop for hours. It was heavy, and seemed to be coming in horizontally, and it was _cold._ I sat on my horse, wet and miserable, and felt Marco trembling beneath me; the thunder seemed to scare him especially. Though it was the middle of the day, it was dark like night and the storm was deafening, so Amir was practically on top of me by the time I saw him trying to get my attention. He shouted over the sound that we were going to make camp ahead, to wait out the storm. I shouted back my agreement, and urged poor Marco into a trot to get to the others.

I dismounted and took my bedroll and barely used tent off his back before tying him up with the other horses. I saw Akil to my right ducking into his tent, and the caravan shut up tight against the weather. I didn’t see Yusuf. I struggled against the wind and rain to put up my tent and was about to give up and just let the damn wind have it if it wanted it so badly when Yusuf appeared to my left and began to help. Between the two us we managed to get it done. As Yusuf hammered in the last stake I threw myself in, and Yusuf followed moments after. The cotton of the tent instantly muffled the sound of the storm; it was still loud, but not overwhelming like it was outside. I looked at Yusuf and laughed. He looked like a drowned rat.

“What?” he asked.

“You look like a drowned rat," I said.

He looked down at himself and laughed. “It’s fucking horrible out there.”

“It is," I agreed. He took off his head covering. It was soaked through; his hair was wet beneath it.

“How much does that weigh now?” I asked.

“About as much as me, I think," he responded. “I hate this damn thing.”

“Then why do you wear it?” He shot me an ironic look, as if to say, _you’re one to talk_. I knew. For him, covering your head showed respect for God; not covering it showed the opposite.

I picked at my clothes, which were soaking. I thought to take off my tunic, when it suddenly struck me that Yusuf and I were alone in a tent, with a storm roaring outside.

I swallowed and looked over. I suppose the panic showed in my eyes because he laughed and said, “This doesn’t need to be uncomfortable. If you want to take off your tunic I promise to avert my lustful gaze.”

I narrowed my eyes at him – he was poking fun.

“Fine.” I gathered my courage, and pulled the tunic over my head, my hands hitting the ceiling. I crawled to the corner and squeezed some of the moisture out. I looked back at Yusuf, who stared at me openly.

“Yusuf!” I admonished. I watched him smirk.

“I lied.”

“The lord detests lying lips," I responded.

“I prefer to hear what you think about my lips, Nico,” he retorted, smiling.

I rolled my eyes. “I think they’re put to better use shut, right now," but my own lips quirked in amusement regardless.

He sighed, sat up on his knees, and took off his tunic. “Fine, fine," he said.

All of the laughter left me then, the teasing abruptly gone at the sight of so much tanned skin and the look in his eyes. It felt like my entire world condensed to just his hand on his skin. He said something else, but I did not hear. He cocked his head to the side and licked his lips, his right hand lazily drawing shapes on his skin, as if to say, _you can have this, if you want._ All of the muscles I remembered from the bathhouse were still there, but this time, I knew I had permission to touch. It felt like a miracle. I had no idea what to do. I just stared, frozen.

“Maybe I should touch you, instead," Yusuf murmured. The words came to me through a fog, quiet and hazy. He crawled over to me under the low ceiling of the tent. I was still on my knees, and I straightened my back as he got closer and closer, jumping slightly when his lips grazed the skin at my stomach, his mouth opening in a kiss. I exhaled shakily. _This is really happening._ It felt like all of the blood in my body had raced to my cock, which was hard and pounding already.

“Lie back," he hummed.

I sat on my ass and lowered my weight to my hands so that I leaned back. Yusuf’s head turned and breathed on my cock. I thrust into the air slightly and I saw him smile against my hip. I lowered myself to my elbows, and then I was flat on my back, at his mercy. The rain beat down on the tent and I prayed harder than I’d ever prayed for anything in my life that the storm would never stop.

Yusuf ran his fingers across the front of my trousers, rubbing me through the linen. He looked up at me. “I want to suck you. Is that all right?”

_Thank you, God,_ I thought.

“Yes,” I said, shakily.

He stroked the sensitive head of my cock slowly, looking up at me. I thought of all the times I’d fantasized about this exact act as he pulled my clothes down so that my cock was free and then he stared for a long moment, taking in everything. Finally he nudged my leg to the side and knelt between them, his palms sliding up the inside of my thighs, over my hips and stomach and along my chest. I moaned helplessly before grabbing at his hands, feeling, somehow, that clutching at his fingers would ground me, because already it felt like I was floating away. His hands clutched at mine in return and he smiled, leonine, and just the _smile,_ and what it whispered to me - that I had no idea how good this would feel - made the pleasure double, strong and potent.

“I’ve thought about this for a long time," he said, before extending the tip of his tongue and lapping at the head. I couldn't help a grunt.

“Please, Yusuf – “. My whimper turned into a moan when the head slipped between his warm lips. My hands pulled from his and flew down to his head to grasp at his still-wet hair. His fingers wrapped around the base for a few lazy strokes, and then, suddenly, he swallowed half of me into his heat.

" _Oh_."

I looked down at his softly bobbing head and pleasure, pure and simple and natural as anything I'd ever felt, raced up my spine. "That feels so good," I muttered through clenched teeth. At my words he pulled off and smiled lazily up at me.

“You like that?” he asked.

“Yes,” I gasped. My hands tightened in his hair. My legs shook.

His mouth went around my cock again and he slid me down until his lips covered me almost entirely, his hand covering the sliver of skin not covered by his mouth, and he started to work me roughly, his other hand playing with my balls, his mouth continuing to suck.

I swore, pulled his hair, arched my back, felt as if I would die. It was overwhelming, we’d just been teasing each other and now my cock was in his mouth. His smile was right: I'd never realized how good this could feel.

He frees his mouth long enough to say, "Come."

_Come_ , his voice says in my mind again. _Come, because you've wanted this for years, you've fantasized all this time. Wanted me selfish and urgent, making you come. Sinner._

Yusuf took me all the way to the back of his throat and swallowed, and the pleasure sharpened further, the _wrongness_ of what we did - _sinner, sodomite -_ cutting into me like a knife. But, God, it felt good. I groaned loudly – too loudly – and came, all of the feelings rushing through me and pulling me under, crushing me with perfect heartbreaking pleasure. And there through all of it was Yusuf, moaning and swallowing everything until I was breathless and shaking. Finally he laid his forehead on my hip and looked up at me as I floated back down to earth.

“All right?” he said.

I looked up at the ceiling, unseeing, waiting for the guilt to hit me, hoping it wouldn't. The sin over and done with, so quickly, but the only differences were _good._ I was relaxed, and it was a wonder to be able to touch him.

“Yes. Yes, I’m all right." I threaded my hands through his curls and looked into his soft brown eyes, where his head still lay at my hip. “I am very all right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the kudos and comments over the past couple of weeks, everyone. It's been very much appreciated.


	16. Chapter 16

**Yusuf**

I drew in a shaky breath. _It was like the storm,_ I thought. _It was not there, and then suddenly it was._ A few minutes before we’d been teasing each other, and now I had his come in my mouth. It had been perhaps fifteen minutes since we’d ducked into the tent.

I rubbed my forehead against his hip and idly ran my palm along his stomach, which I’d just seen clenching as he’d come, the bands of muscle tight under the thin layers of fat and skin. I closed my eyes. The rain still beat upon the tent, and we were warm inside. I felt as if my soul floated somewhere above me.

“That was…” he trailed off.

“Good?”

I felt him nod. His left hand played idly with my hair, sending shivers down my spine.

“More than good," he responded. “Is it always like this?”

He was looking down at me when I glanced up.

“No," I said. “It’s not.”

He nodded and looked back up at the ceiling. “I didn’t think so.” We breathed in and out, his hand still playing with my hair, my hand still idly touching his skin. I couldn’t get enough of it.

“How many men have you been with?” he asked.

I propped myself up on my right elbow. “Does it matter?”

“No. I’m just curious. I have nothing to compare this to.”

“Three," I responded.

“Who were they?”

“One was an old friend from home, and the other two were strangers.” I didn’t really want to explain more.

“What happened?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, you’re not with them now…”

“Things ended badly with the friend from home. The strangers were just that – strangers. But it doesn’t matter; I was always looking for a blue-eyed former priest turned merchant who killed me a handful of times, and those are rather hard to find.”

He glanced at me and smirked. “It is an oddly specific type.”

We smiled at each other and I pulled myself up his body so that our bodies lay flush, I on my side and he still on his back. I propped my head up on my right fist and watched as my left hand touched him. I drew my fingertips up from the base of his cock, along the line where the muscles of his belly met, to the slight indentation where his chest began. I dragged them to his left nipple and then to his right, flattened my hand where I could hear the thumping of his heart. I looked up at him again as I drew my palm up past his clavicle until it lay on his throat; thumb against his jaw, fingers curled around the strong column. Those blue eyes focused on mine when I looked at him.

“May I kiss you?” I asked.

He nodded. I leaned forward and put my lips to his. _This is it_ , I vaguely thought. We opened our mouths at the same time, our tongues softly intertwined. I breathed out and he breathed in, and it felt like we were sharing something more than air. _My future, kissing me back_.

His hands came to rest at the back of my head, his fingers twined through my hair.

“Yusuf," he muttered. I could feel him smile against my lips.

I shifted so we lay chest to chest, our legs tangled together. His right hand left my hair and swept down my back to my ass. I groaned. My cock hardened again to the point of a full erection and I groaned again as a small wave of pleasure pulled some come up from my balls and out, dripping onto Nicolo. _All this, from a simple touch,_ I wondered _._ I pulled away to look down at the evidence against my beloved’s skin and felt another wave of pleasure take me when his fingers touched the spot. He wrapped his hand around my cock, smearing the evidence of my arousal against the shaft.

“I want to make you come," he whispered against my ear. A shudder traveled down my spine as I moaned.

“Nico, beloved, keep touching me like that and I will.”

He tightened his grip and slid his hand up and down, slowly. It would normally be too slow to make me come, but with this man, that fact didn’t matter. I began to shake; my position propped up on my elbows becoming harder and harder to hold as the pleasure overwhelmed me.

He gently bit my left ear and whispered, “Come for me, Yusuf."

My heart lurched violently and my head dropped forward to lay against his neck. I used his hand, pushing in and out of his closed fist, lubricated by the come that now leaked continuously from my cock.

“Nicolo," I whispered against the strong column of his throat. It was so fast - too fast - but the release had been building since I'd taken him into my mouth earlier – a furious heat gathering tightly in my balls and the base of my cock. He pulled at my hair to bring my head up and kissed me, our tongues fucking too. _This is all you’ve ever wanted, this man touching you._ “Nico," I groaned, as I rubbed against his hand and his belly again and again until I succumbed. _I love you_ , I thought, then thought no more. Behind my eyelids I was blinded, nothing to the world except for pleasure and relief. I vaguely registered my come covering Nico’s hand and belly, my groans and twitching muscles before my soul re-entered my body.

Nico rubbed my softening cock through the evidence of my surrender on his torso. He touched my face, pushed my hair back.

“My God," he said. I huffed out a laugh. “Yes.”

“That was…” he trailed off, his eyes still searching mine.

I nodded. “More than good," I responded, parroting back his earlier words to me. He smiled.

“More than good," he repeated, and he brushed his lips against mine. We lazily kissed until awareness of the outside world began to intrude. I could hear the rain thudding against the roof, less insistent than before. The horses were stomping against the ground, shaking the water from their coats.

“We should make ourselves presentable," I said against his lips.

Nico sighed. “I suppose," he agreed, but kept kissing me. _I love you_ , I thought again. Finally, I was able to extricate myself from his embrace and went to find my tunic. I looked back at Nico, who still lay on his back. He was idly running the fingers of his right hand through the come that pooled in the dips of his torso. I froze at the sight. He looked at me, smirked, and drew his come-covered fingers into his mouth and sucked. A raw sound I’d never heard myself make ripped from my lungs.

I moved back to him and pulled his wrist so his fingers popped from his mouth.

“That," I growled, “is very dirty.”

“Is it?” he said, and cocked an eyebrow at me. _He knows exactly what he’s doing_ , I thought. “What will you do about it, Yusuf?”

“Find your tunic," I told him quietly. He made to wipe his hand on the bedroll but I grabbed his wrist. “No.”

He looked over at me inquiringly before grabbing his tunic from where it lay bunched in the corner. He brought the material to his stomach, but stopped when I again said, “No.”

An eyebrow raised inquiringly at me as he waited for me to tell him what he could do instead.

“I want you to get dressed. Don’t clean yourself. I want to look at you all day and know that my come is soaking into your skin.”

He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply at that. He looked back at me and bit his lip. He was flushed.

“Whatever you want, Yusuf," he said breathily.

I smiled. “Good.”

We dressed quietly, sneaking looks at each other every few seconds. It sounded like the rain was barely falling. I opened the tent’s flap to check. The sun was starting to emerge and it was already burning the water from the ground; a humid mist hovered. I left the flap open. The little tent stank of sex.

I was surprised and utterly pleased at Nico’s daring; I hadn’t thought he’d be ready to touch me so quickly. I had meant what I'd said just a few days before: I would have waited for him for as long as he needed, but apparently only a few moments of privacy changed all of that - no time was needed, no need to wait. I thought of his little coquettish play at the end, my come on his fingers, drying on his stomach. Lust shot through me. That had been a gamble, more aggressive that I would've thought I'd be at this stage, but he knew what he was doing - somehow - and he'd responded so beautifully.

I could hear people beginning to emerge as the sun came out, so Nico and I started to take the tent down. By an unspoken agreement we knew we had to act as if nothing at all was unusual. I didn't want to bring attention to the fact that we'd shared a tent for an hour.

“What do you think we’ll be having for dinner?” I asked. _I can't wait to watch your face when I finally get inside of you._

“I am not sure, I think Hammad still has some hummus," he responded. _I hope you can feel my come drying on your skin, and it reminds you of what we just did._

“Hmm. I wonder if we could get some game for a stew? Not much meat left, is there?” _I love you._

Fatima overheard us. “Oh, a stew would be lovely! Hammad, is that possible?” she yelled over to the chef.

“If we get more game it is," he yelled back.

“Perfect! Boys," she said, “can you see what you can find? Come back in an hour?”

We looked at each other.

“Of course! Anything you desire, beautiful Fatima," I said.

She giggled. “Flirt. We’ll leave you behind, no matter how handsome you are, so get going. One hour!”

We tried not to look too eager as we saddled up our horses and galloped into the woods.


	17. Chapter 17

**Nicolo**

As we raced our horses over the fields to a copse of trees at the top of a hill in the distance, I thought of every touch, sound, and smell from our time in the tent. Yusuf’s muscles straining above me; the sound he made when I sucked my fingers; his head burrowing into my neck as he raced towards his peak; his face, when he finally came. That, most of all. His eyes had been closed and I’d looked my fill; his expression had made me feel as if I were divine. _Bliss._ I wanted to make him feel like that again.

God was in the back of my head, chattering away, but His concerns were of no interest to me then. I wanted Yusuf. His come was on my skin and I wanted more of it.

We entered the trees and slowed our horses to a trot. Yusuf kept looking over at me, and I kept looking at him, and I knew we were thinking the same thing. He stopped his horse, dismounted, and tied his horses’ reins to a branch; I did the same. As I stood tying the knot I could feel Yusuf's eyes on me, and I wondered what he would do.

He came up behind me, and suddenly I was back in the tent, struggling to breath through the desire crowding my lungs. His hands were on my hips, and then his front pressed up against my back.

“Yusuf," I gasped.

“Is this all right?” he said against my ear.

I laughed a little. “Yes, this is much more than all right.” He seized a handful of my hair and pulled me back, attacked my neck with such intensity I thought he would leave bruises. I twisted my head so his teeth hit the spots that felt best.

“That feels good,” I exhaled. His hand came up and pressed against the front of my throat, constricting my breath slightly. _That feels good too. Why does that feel so good?_ His other hand slid down to my cock over my clothes. He rubbed at the head and I jerked against him helplessly, arching my back until I felt his hard cock against my ass and it felt _right_. This wasn’t proof of my downfall; it was an opportunity.

My right hand snuck between us and I slid my hand onto his cock, feeling the reality of it. He hissed and pulled my hair.

“Do that again," he said into my ear. He rubbed the front of my neck. _Yes, do that, keep talking_.

I rubbed his cock again, over the layers of clothing, and he moaned, thrusting forward. He pulled my loose pants down and then wandered under my tunic up towards where my cock stood, weeping. He pulled my hair again and idly touched my cock with the tip of his index finger, finding the wetness.

“Hmmm, what do we have here?” he whispered. “You want this, don’t you?” I nodded, powerless. His hand wrapped around my cock and I couldn’t help the groan that escaped, or the way I thrust into his fist.

“You do. You’ve been wanting to do this for years.” He stroked faster and I whimpered in truth. “Tell me, am I the only one who’s touched you like this?” I nodded, yes. Words were impossible.

He hummed. “A virgin. I shouldn’t like that as much as I do, but I love it. I’m going to ruin you.” I moaned at that. _Who is this man?_

“Don’t stop," I pleaded.

“I won’t," he said. His hand sped up under my clothes. His left hand went to my jaw to turn my head roughly to the right. Our mouths were a whisper apart but he kept us separated, the muscles of his arm standing out in relief with the strain.

“Please," I whispered.

“Keep your eyes open," he hissed, “I want to see what happens in those blue eyes when you come.”

“Yusuf,” I moaned in response. Pleasure bloomed up from somewhere behind my cock, the overwhelming lust only he could draw from me. I thought wildly, _Of course we’re told sex is a sin, if everyone knew it could feel like this we’d never get anything done._ I groaned at the blasphemous thought.

“Look at you," he murmured, softness suddenly in his eyes. “So beautiful.” His strokes became less aggressive and I hissed through my teeth.

“Yusuf. I’m going to come. Don’t stop.” I thrust forward, trying to get friction.

I watched him smile. “Such greed.”

“Yes, I should be on my guard. Come on.” I was well past the point of deflection or guilt, the urge to reach that glorious peak too intense to ignore.

His eyes roamed my face, contemplating. “I think I’ll take my time.”

“We don’t _have_ time, Yusuf, please," I begged.

“We have nothing but time, Nicolo.” The urgency suddenly left me at his words. He was right. Time stretched out before us, endless innumerable days. We watched each other as he leaned forward, and I felt something like wonder when his lips touched mine. _Forever_ , I thought, and closed my eyes.

He pulled away slightly and his hand tightened again on my throat.

“Of course, the rest of the group will start wondering where we are," he said conversationally as he began to slowly stroke my cock again. “What do you think they’d say, if they knew?” His teeth closed on my ear. “If they saw you, the way you look now?” I moaned. _It would mean derision, pain, death, or worse. Why does the thought arouse you?_ I didn’t know, but it did. “The way you’re begging me to let you come? Your cock is dripping, Nico, you want to come, don’t you?” I bit my lip. _Yes, yes I want to._

“I want to fuck you," he said with deadly seriousness. I tore my right hand from where it’d been trapped between us and clutched at his shoulder, my fingers digging into the muscle there. _He’s going to kill me_.

His hand sped up again, working me in short strokes just behind the head. My legs began to shake and I briefly wondered what would happen if I collapsed once he finally let me come.

“I want you to fuck me. I want to feel your cock slide into me until you’re fully inside, touching everything.” I groaned loudly. _God, save me_.

“I want you to fill me with your come, and I want to fill you with mine.” I was shaking like a leaf now, moans and come flowing out me in equal measure, completely out of control.

“Don’t stop, please, Yusuf, please," I _begged_. A noise I’d never heard myself make, raw and animalistic, ripped out of me as the pleasure grew. I tried to close my eyes, but Yusuf squeezed my throat and said, “Keep them open.”

I forced my eyes open and stared into Yusuf’s brown ones as I climaxed. I shook and moaned, dying from the pleasure, my muscles spasming as I emptied into Yusuf’s palm. He kept stroking, bathing my cock with my come until the shuddering ended.

My legs felt weak. My heart felt weak. _I_ felt weak. I let my head sag back against Yusuf and laughed.

“Oh my God," I said. I could feel Yusuf smiling against my hair. _Oh my God._

I felt a lightness enter my chest then, expanding and filling me with a buoyant kind of astonishment. It spread through my body, from the top of my head to my toes and out along my fingertips. It felt like God’s blessed love coursed through my veins; I couldn’t have held back the smile that bloomed on my face even if I’d wanted to.

“Yusuf.”

“Yes, Nicolo?”

“What did you do to me?” I felt rather than heard his exhalation of laughter, his breath moving through my hair. He didn’t respond. I thought of our intended purpose for coming into the woods, to find a goat or rabbits for food. I thought of the long journey we still had to make, the days and weeks and months we would have to go without touching each other. Now that I knew what Yusuf’s touch felt like I never wanted to stop.

“I don’t wish to go back," I said. “Perhaps we could we just stay here?”

“We could," he responded, “but all of my things are at camp, and they'd come looking for us.”

I sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”

His arms came around my shoulders and my hands bracketed his wrists across my chest. We stood there embracing for a few long seconds, simply breathing. Peace fell upon us, there in that forest.

“Do you remember our walk through the woods to get to the ship?” I asked, thinking of other forests, other days.

“Of course,” he said. “That was a horrible day. I didn’t want you to leave.”

That surprised me.

“Truly?” I asked.

“Yes. It felt like a part of myself would be getting onto that boat and sailing away.”

“But you barely knew me. All I’d done was kill you.”

“I knew you,” he said, and pushed his head against mine, so his cheek rested against my temple. “Even then, I knew. You left me, and I was lost. When you found me again it felt like a piece of myself was put back into its rightful place.”

I understood, but couldn’t believe he meant it.

“You say the most outrageous things," I said.

“Yes," he said, “but only to you.”

I smiled, and we held each other.

* * *

We returned back to camp and made our apologies that we weren’t able to bring back any meat. Fatima and the children were disappointed, but understood. We were only a few days from Samarkand; we would restock there.

We saddled up, and continued our journey.

* * *

We purchased the usual food and spices once we reached the city, but there were unusual purchases too: thick coats of animal fur, and paper. The coats were practical; winter would be upon us soon enough, and I’d been horrified by the tales of its harshness in this part of the world. Freezing to death was not something I wished to do, nor something I wished upon Yusuf. 

The paper was a whim. I had come across a stall selling some pre-cut and stacked on top of each other, and I genuinely could not tell what it was, paper being something I hadn’t yet encountered. It seemed inedible, and it was rough and white; beyond that, I had no idea. When I asked, the shopkeeper informed me that paper was milled using the seeds of flax plants, which seemed preposterous. I had seen flax fields before, in La Serenissima; I couldn't believe that this material could be created from those charming little plants. But they seemed to be of good quality, and of good value besides, so I bought a sheaf. Yusuf drew constantly; I would have this ready to gift to him once his sketchbooks were full.

As we rode up into the mountains, snowflakes began to fall. I bundled up in my fur, and fantasized about huddling up with Yusuf for warmth. A man could dream.


	18. Chapter 18

**Yusuf**

As overjoyed as I was that Nicolo and I were finally lovers, it made the journey that much harder. To observe him smiling; to lie next to him; to make him laugh, all without being able to touch him, was torture. I wanted to be with him in every way, and that included being able to bestow upon him the light little touches that Amir was able to offer Fatima; the soft caresses that would indicate to the world that he was mine, and I was his.

Of course, that wasn’t possible.

We were passing through the same tall mountains between Samarkand and Kashgar that I’d been through on my final journey before Nico found me in Baghdad. They had been beautiful before, lush and green and warm. This time, the mountains were harsh and cold, jagged and somehow foreboding. We had taken to sleeping in tents at night, now, the temperature being what it was, so I wasn’t even able to look over at Nicolo as he lay next to me sleeping under the stars any longer. I found myself cursing my previous hatred of hot weather. In hot weather one would sweat, yes, but one could also wear less clothes, one could see the perspiration dripping down their beloved’s neck, one could turn in the night and assure oneself that their beloved was still alive, and well, and dreaming. I missed the heat.

* * *

During these cold nights, we all naturally drew closer to the fire, and Fatima started to tell the children stories around it before they were bundled off to sleep. The girls loved it; the men did too (though I suspected that Malik and Akil would be hard-pressed to admit to it).

One night, as the stars sparkled above us and our breath clouded the air, she told us the story of the Merchant and the Jinn.

“There was once a man,” she began, “a merchant, from very far away. He traveled extensively, trading with neighboring countries of spices, and amassed a great deal of wealth in his life. One day, he was traveling through a foreign land, where the sun beat down upon him. He was exhausted, so he found a tree to sit under, to rest himself, and to eat of some bread and dates as he had in his saddlebag. He ate his date and threw away the stone.”

She paused and watched her children, who were enraptured. Nico and I sat next to each other, our knees touching slightly through layers and layers of clothes.

“Poof! A massive jinn appeared, taller than any man. He was carrying an outstretched sword –“ here Fatima mimed holding a sword and pretended to poke at her youngest, Sabah, who giggled “- and he said to the merchant, ‘stand up!’ for you have killed my son, and I must now kill you!’. The merchant protested that he had not killed the son, but the jinn said that the date’s stone he cast aside had stuck his son and as it was his time to die, he had perished.”

I leaned over to Nico and whispered, “I wish it were that easy." He snorted and shushed me.

Fatima continued, “The merchant said, ‘To God we belong and to God we must return! If he was destined to die at that time, surely my hitting him would have made no difference’, but the jinn would hear nothing of his protestations and cast him to the ground to kill him. The merchant begged for his life, but the jinn was hard of heart and did not care. Finally the merchant told the jinn, ‘Please! I have a family, a wife and children, and a great many possessions. Give me one year to put my life to rights and then I shall return to you!’ He swore it upon God. You know what that means, right, Rashika?”

Her middle daughter nodded and said in a quiet voice, “That it must be done.”

“Exactly," said Fatima. “So, he went home and accomplished all he needed to, and he told his family what had befallen him and they wept for him, for he was a well-loved man. He appointed a guardian for his family and paid his debts, and after a year he left so that he could die. He did not want to go, but he had to, so that the jinn would be satisfied.”

I looked over and Nico to make a joke about paying your debts before you died – what’s the point, you’ll be dead – but stopped when I saw the look on Nico’s face. He looked unaccountably sad.

“So the man went back to the place he had last seen the jinn and waited. A sheik with a gazelle tied to a long string stopped and asked him why he was there. The merchant told him his story of woe. As they talked, another sheik with two big fluffy dogs –“

“Ooooo dogs. I like dogs," Rashika whispered loudly to Karida. Karida shushed her.

“-and that sheik asked them why they sat there, and then a third sheik with a mule appeared, and he asked them why they sat, too. All of the men knew why the merchant was waiting there by the time a huge whirling pillar of dust and lightning approached them, and lo, the jinn appeared, carrying his sword and shooting fire out of his eyes.”

At least one of the girls gasped.

“The jinn said, ‘come to me, merchant, so that I might kill you, as you killed my son, who was the light of my life’. The merchant fell to weeping and wailing and the sheikh with the gazelle stepped up the jinn and said, ‘O, jinn, if I tell you a story of myself and my gazelle and you find it to be wonderful, will you give up to me a third of the claim to his life?’ The jinn agreed, and said, ‘Girls, it is time to go to bed’.”

It took a moment to register, but once the girls realized what had happened they began to let out their protestations. “Hush, hush, I’ll tell you more tomorrow night," Fatima told them, as they collected their things for bed.

As she bundled the girls up I yelled to her, “Well done, Fatima, lovely story tonight!” She turned and bowed and I clapped. Amir, Malik and Akil began to rouse themselves for bed around us.

Nico sat still, next to me. I turned and asked him if he was all right.

“More than all right," he said, smiling slightly at me. It reminded me of what he’d said that day in the forest, and that alone made the blood rush to my cock. I was truly hard-up.

“Don’t distract me," I muttered, “I can tell something’s bothering you.”

He sighed and eyed the other men nearby.

“Yes," he whispered. “That story made me think of my own. A merchant, selling spices, in a hot land, who is ensnared by a jinn," he pointed at me, “who has to get his affairs in order for his family before going back to the hot land so that the jinn," he pointed at me again, “could have him.”

“Do you think I’m magical, Nico?” He snorted and rolled his eyes in response. “Do I have you?”

“Now you’re the one distracting me," he said.

“Good," I responded. I stood and looked down at him. “Anyways, the parallels aren’t that strong. You were a warrior when the jinn," I pointed at myself, “ensnared you, not a merchant.”

He stood up too. “A fair point. The story could not possibly be similar to my own.”

I nodded in agreement as we walked over to where we’d pitched our tents.

“And I cannot shoot fire from my eyes," I said. "If that’s a side-benefit to immortality, I have yet to discover it.”

He smiled and I felt myself warm all over.

I leaned in to him and said, “Your smile brings me more warmth than that fire, Nicolo di Genova.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t start," he said.

“I wish I could kiss you," I responded, and he laughed.

“That is the opposite of ‘not starting’, Yusuf. I wish you could kiss me too, but as you cannot, we should just say good night.” His cold hand touched mine for the briefest of moments and then he turned to his tent.

“Good night, Yusuf," he called over his shoulder. “Sleep well.”

I did not, particularly.

* * *

A few nights later, Fatima continued her tales. Again, I sat next to Nico at the fire. I watched the glow casting light and shadow upon his face out of the corner of my eye as she began.

“So the merchant with the gazelle said to the jinn, ‘O jinn, know that this gazelle is actually my wife. I lived with her for thirty years, but never got a son by her so I took myself a concubine.”

“A concubine?” asked Sabah.

“Shhhh," said Karida. Nico and I smiled at each other.

“This concubine gave to me a son, who grew to full strength and full height. He had expressive eyebrows and was generally well formed. He had a large-ish nose. We’ll say he looked like Yusuf," she said, and everyone laughed and turned to look at me. I touched my nose as if to say, _what, this?_

She continued, “So one day I had occasion to travel to a foreign land. My wife, this gazelle,” she pointed to an imaginary gazelle behind her and the girls giggled, “had learned witchcraft and while I was away, she turned the concubine and my son into a cow and a calf and sold them to a local farmer. When I returned from my long journey, I asked my wife, this gazelle,” she pointed to the imaginary gazelle again, the girls giggled again, “where they had gone, and she told me that they had cursed my name and fled our land, vowing never to return. I mourned their loss until one day a friend’s daughter, who was well versed in witch craft herself, came to me and said, ‘I know the location of your son and concubine’. She pointed to the calf and cow grazing in the field. I was excessively astonished by this, and said, ‘O maiden, if this is true, can you return them to their original state? If you do I shall give you all of my property and possessions.’ When she heard this she smiled and told me, ‘I have no desire for your property, but only wish you should marry me to your son-“

“Married to a _cow_?” spat Karida. She was the oldest at perhaps thirteen and surely had more romantic notions of attachment than being married to a cow.

“You could do worse," retorted Fatima, “now hush.” Rashida laughed at her sister – “ha!” - and Karida’s face reddened.

“And so the girl took a cup of water, repeated a spell over it, and sprinkled it over the cow, who transformed into my son.”

“I wonder if he was naked,” giggled Rashida, but Fatima ignored her. She continued, “She then performed the spell on my concubine, who turned back into herself, and cast another spell on my wife, who became a gazelle, for she was too evil to be trusted in human form. The jinn said, ‘That truly is a wonderful story, merchant, and it is now time for the al-Tammar girls to go to bed.’”

The girls groaned and stood. Sabah said, “That story wasn’t nearly as good as last night’s, mother.”

“I agree with Sabah,” I shouted across the fire. Fatima shot me a smirk.

“Oh, hush, Yusuf, just because she turned you into a cow…” said Nico, laughing.

“And she said I had a big nose! I am mortally offended.”

“She also said you were well-formed.”

“True. And that I had expressive eyebrows.” I waggled my eyebrows at him and he laughed. As always, making him laugh filled me with happiness. We looked at each other for a loaded moment – I always, _always_ wanted to kiss him when he laughed – before he looked away and cut his eyes to the other men.

He cleared his throat and said, “I’ll say good night, then.”

I nodded as he got up. I couldn’t walk him to his tent every night, though God knows I wanted to.

* * *

There were too many towns on the road, now, so we had no need for fresh game and besides, animals were few and far between because of the weather. Nicolo and I weren’t able to sneak away to hunt. I began to hate the cold, and the road, and all of civilization for having so many outposts in the absolute middle of nowhere.

After many weeks of traveling, Amir mentioned to me that he was considering stopping in Kashgar for a few days. Towns would far less plentiful after that, as we travelled through the great plains.

“What do you think?” he asked.

I thought of a warm room with one bed, four glorious walls and a blessed door that locked.

“I think that’s an excellent idea," I said. “It’ll get everyone’s spirits up before the long haul.” So it was decided.


	19. Chapter 19

**Nicolo**

In some ways, Kashgar reminded me of home. The city was a maze of tightly packed streets and alleys, with businesses and homes and markets all on top of each other. It was less colorful than the towns in Liguria, and of course the architecture was different, but it was somehow familiar. I instantly liked it. Yusuf, who was practically giddy to show me around the town, further compounded my feelings for the city; he’d apparently lived here for some time a few years back.

First, he took me to his favorite market stall that sold something called “noodles”, apparently a delicacy of the town, and of the world we were on the precipice of entering. According to Yusuf, it was of utmost importance that I try them.

“Yusuf," I laughed, when he handed a bowl to me, “this looks like a bowl of worms.” They were odd: flat and white.

He handed me two sticks and said, “Trust me, Nico, it’s wonderful.” I took the proffered sticks and held one in each hand.

“What are these?”

He laughed at my confusion and explained that they were called chopsticks, and should be used for eating the noodles. He demonstrated how to hold them with his hand, and I hopelessly struggled to mimic his position. I dropped them more than once; eventually other people around us were openly laughing at my failure.

“Tell me. These noodles, are they worth this humiliation?” I finally asked.

“They are," he said. He was smugly eating his noodles with his chopsticks and watching my defeat. “Truly, Nicolo, they’re delicious.” He shoved some more into his mouth. “I wish you could eat them. It’s a shame you can’t work out how to use the chopsticks – hey!” he said, laughing when I hit him on the hand with my sticks and rubbing at the spot, as if it actually hurt - as if it wouldn’t immediately heal.

“I can work this out," I said, “I can live forever; I can do this.”

By holding them far too low – Yusuf was holding his all the way at the end – I finally succeeded in grabbing some noodles, but of course they slipped from the wood immediately. I tried again, and by bringing my bowl practically up to my face, I was successful. The noodles were indeed delicious, but I resented every bite.

“This reminds me of the day I vowed to learn Greek”, I said, eating my hard-won meal.

“After we met?” he asked.

“Yes. All I need is to be presented with utter humiliation to force myself to learn something new. I will master these chopsticks. They will not defeat me.”

* * *

Next, he took me to see elephants. Weeks before, I had mentioned that I was curious to see one, and Yusuf apparently had a memory as good as the creatures we were about to meet. We called on one of his old acquaintances at the outskirts of town to do so.

“He said I hadn’t aged a day," Yusuf said, as we walked towards the enclosures. “I assured him that I have, and that I would forgive his debts to me – which, actually, I had forgotten about - if I could show my friend his elephants. He clearly thought it was odd, but I think it’s worth the risk.”

We turned the corner, and suddenly I was face to face with one of the gigantic animals. It stood perhaps a head and shoulders taller than me and my first impression was of overwhelming calmness. As I stood there observing, she – I knew it was a she - brought her trunk up and started to feel around my face and body, like she was learning what I was through that strange extremity. She seemed intelligent, like she comprehended the world in truth. I was delighted to realize that she was searching my robes for food.

“What a wonderful creature," I muttered to no one in particular.

“I’m sorry, sweet, I don’t have any food for you," I said to her.

A little elephant head poked around her mother’s leg and eyed me with seeming approval. She teetered over on fearless newborn legs to greet me, her tiny trunk wobbling up to feel at my waist. She bonked her tiny, too-trusting head against my body, seeking attention. I patted her dry gray skin as her little black eye regarded me, and thought, _the righteous one is aware of the soul of an animal_. I laughed, utterly charmed by the interaction with these creatures and turned to look at Yusuf. He regarded me with a quiet look and a soft smile that I had to turn away from. I continued petting the elephants and tried not to think too much about what that look might mean.

* * *

Then, Yusuf took me to a bathhouse. The bathhouses in Kashgar weren’t nearly as opulent as in Baghdad, but after weeks on the trail with nothing by way of hygiene but furtive swipes of ice-cold water, it was glorious to sink into a warm pool. I laid my head back against the edge of the pool and closed my eyes, feeling the warmth sink into my tired muscles. Yusuf was just a few feet away.

“This is perhaps my favorite thing we’ve done today," I said, sighing.

“That can’t be true, Nicolo, I saw you with those elephants. I believe that’s the happiest I’ve ever seen you. Or anyone, really.”

“An excellent point. They are marvelous creatures. Thank you again for helping me make their acquaintances.”

“Of course. I’m glad to have been the one to have brought you such happiness.”

I lifted my eyebrows at him, as if to say, _there are people everywhere._

He lifted his back to me, as if to say, _and what do I care?_

“And the noodles?” he asked, abruptly switching topics. I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Do not speak to me of noodles or chopsticks," I said, “there hasn’t been enough time.” He laughed.

“And how much time will it be, my dear Nicolo, until I can bring them up again?” I thought upon it.

“Twenty years," I said.

“Alright. Agreed. In twenty years I will once again be allowed to speak of the chopsticks incident. I will say, ‘Nico, do you remember when you utterly embarrassed yourself in front of all of those people trying to use chopsticks for the first time?’”

I laughed and said, “You are incorrigible.”

I closed my eyes again as we fell into silence. I felt Yusuf eyeing me. We were finally naked but unable to touch; I understood his compulsion. It was why my eyes were closed: If I opened them I knew that my lust for him would be evident to anyone who walked by.

“You can’t keep looking at me like that, Yusuf. Evidence of your perusal will be clear for all to see.”

“Perhaps I wish to see that evidence.”

I cracked open one eye to look at him. “Yusuf....”

“Fine, fine," he said. “I’ll be good, for now.” He paused. “Just one question; I’ve been wondering this for a long time: Were you in fact overcome with lust for me when we were at the bathhouse in Baghdad?”

“Yusuf!” I exclaimed, laughing, and then lowered my voice. “Can we perhaps discuss this at another time?”

He looked me all over. “Of course. But I’m right, aren’t I? You were.” He smiled, looking brash.

“Yusuf.”

He chuckled. “I knew it.”

I dunked my head under the water so I didn’t have to respond.

* * *

The last, best surprise of the day: Yusuf had rented a room for the night. I stood in the middle of it, observing the rough stone floors, the window high up in one wall, and the single bed. I knew why we were here. I heard the snick of the door closing and the metallic scrape of a lock turning. The rest of the world was outside, now.

“Turn around," said Yusuf. I did. He leaned against the wall next to the door with his arms crossed, tall and lean, looking like the devil himself.

“Come here," he lazily crooked his finger: _Come._ I walked over to him, stopping an arm’s length away.

He reached out to pull me towards him, so that our bodies pressed together against the wall.

“Kiss me," he said.

I leaned forward and lay my lips on his, feeling the soft skin and vaguely registering that I had stopped breathing. I sucked in air on a shaky breath and Yusuf deepened the kiss, his tongue in my mouth; mine in his. _You’re alone and you have time_ , I thought. Yusuf kissed me like he was tasting me; a slow, curious exploration that felt both devoted and dirty. He cocked his jaw and curled his hand in my hair as the exploration went deeper and began to feel more urgent. I kissed him back, trying to tell him with my mouth how eager I was for whatever was to come. When I bit his lower lip, he groaned “Nico” into my mouth and I felt power coursing through my veins.

“Yes, Yusuf?” I nipped at his lip again.

“I thought we might take this slow," he said, his eyes closing as I licked his neck. I bit him and felt him tense underneath me.

“Take off your clothes," I said. One of my hands moved closer to his cock.

I felt the swallow under his throat. “You’re making his hard.”

“Am I?” I cocked an eyebrow at him and moved my hand to his cock, rubbing it slightly and feeling it harden beneath my hands.

He huffed out a laugh and said, “You, Nicolo di Genova, are something of a tease.”

“And what of it?” I asked him, smiling against his neck before biting down again on the soft skin. “If I am already damned I want to make the damnation worth it.”

I felt the energy change, unconsciously read in the sudden tension of his neck.

“Is that what you think? That this damns you?”

I pulled back slightly; I’m sure I looked confused. “Yes. I told you that this is a sin. God commands that men should not lay with each other.”

I watched as a new emotion played out on his face that I had not yet known. I placed my lips back to his neck and whispered, “But I want you too much to keep listening to God."

He hummed noncommittally and then pulled my hair slightly to look into my eyes.

“I suppose I should take what I can get," he muttered.

“Yusuf…”

“You asked me to take off my clothes?” he interrupted before I could continue, and began to disrobe. He leaned down and took off his boots and socks, setting them tidily against the wall. His tunic and trousers followed, and he walked everything over to the chair where his coat already lay. There was something simmering in him that I knew I should pay attention to, but all of my attention was paid to his body and I had nothing more to spare.

We stood silently in the quiet room for a moment before my feet took me over to where he waited, arms at his side. His body was exactly the same as the last time I had seen it, of course. Nothing had changed and nothing would ever change.

“You are exquisitely made," I said. _I want to fall at your feet and worship you_ , I thought. I brought my hand up and touched the heavy muscles of his chest, feeling his heat and the solidity below the skin. Below, his cock hardened more fully.

“Will I be alone in my nakedness?” was his response.

I looked up at him and saw that unknown emotion still in his deep brown eyes. His hands clenched and unclenched.

“No,” I said. “You won’t be.”

I stepped away and took off my tunic, first. I walked over to the bed and sat down, taking off my boots and socks. I looked over at Yusuf, who stood in the same spot, arms still at his side, dark gaze on me. I stood to untie my trousers and let them drop to the ground. _Courage_ , I told myself. _You remember that day in the tent, or in the woods. He’ll make this good._ I looked up just as he grabbed me to him, his mouth seeking mine, clutching me to his body, short nails drawing along my back and sending shivers down my spine. Our cocks rubbed against at each other, drawing a moan out of me. _Another cock is rubbing against yours. Yusuf’s cock._ I shivered. I felt wild already; desirous of showing him how untamed he made me feel. We kissed furiously for a few moments; my hands touching everything I could; his hands doing the same. He rested his forehead on mine and softly laughed.

“I don’t know what to do with you," he said.

“Anything," I responded, gasping, trying to draw his lips back to mine. “Everything.”

He cast a considering glance over me, then told me to lie back on the bed. I turned and laid myself down, conscious of Yusuf’s heavy gaze on me, all the while.

He sat himself between my legs and drew his hands down my thighs. “You’re so beautiful," he said, and leaned forward to lick at the tip of my cock. _God, yes, please, this act again._ He drew the skin back slightly and put the tip of his tongue into my slit, licking all over the head. He settled himself down on his belly and lifted my legs to lie on his shoulders so that I lay spread before him. I felt self-conscious for a moment before I saw the expression on his face: He looked at me if I were a feast for a dying man. Suddenly, the feeling of heady power re-appeared and I had to close my eyes against it: I could make this beautiful warrior completely helpless with my desire for him. He moaned at my expression and curled his hand around my cock, giving a few lazy pulls as he put his head to my thigh.

“Are you all right?” I asked him.

“Yes," he said. “I’m trying not to come.”

“You’ve barely touched me.”

“I know," he said, and laughed ruefully. “It’s too much, to actually touch you. It’s been so long that day feels like a dream.”

I ran my hand through his hair and he closed his eyes and leaned into my touch.

“It wasn’t a dream," I said.

“No," he said, “it just felt like one.” He breathed in shakily and looked at me. “I want to make this good for you, Nicolo.”

“I have every faith that you will, Yusuf.” He nodded and closed his eyes. When he opened them, I recognized again the greedy stranger from the woods who’d spoken the most delicious words into my ear as he made me come. Desire pooled heavy in my chest. He settled between my legs again and began sucking my cock in earnest, spoiling me with deep draws, getting hungrier with each pass.

“Hold my head. Pull my hair," he told me. He lowered back down and moaned when I tightened my fingers in his locks. Delicious power coursed through me again at his reaction and I flipped from passive recipient to active aggressor. I started urging Yusuf on, drawing his head down and back, down and back, using his mouth, which moaned around me continuously. He took me even deeper, rougher, quicker, hungrier, and tighter; it was intense and overwhelming. I became a quivering mess, my fingers trembling in his hair.

“I’m close," I moaned, and Yusuf released my cock and jumped off the bed.

“What are you doing?” I asked frantically. _I’m so fucking close._

“You’ll see," he responded, digging around in his bag until his hand emerged, triumphant, with what he apparently sought.

I leaned up on my left elbow, briefly distracted from my irritation at his abrupt departure by confusion.

“Is that the jar I use to shave?” I asked.

“It is indeed," he responded.

“Are you…going to shave me?” _Well, if he wants to…_

“Goose grease," he said, by way of explanation, and dipped the tips of his left hand into the jar before rubbing it the length of his fingers. Understanding dawned as I watched him. He got back onto the bed.

“Nico,” he said, so that I would look down at him, “tell me if you want me to stop.” I nodded, and held my breath. Keeping his eyes on mine, he slowly inserted a finger to perhaps the first knuckle. I breathed through the sensation, which was odd, but not unpleasant.

“Good?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He resumed rubbing at my cock, and calmly pushed his finger the rest of the way in. _You can do this,_ I told myself, closing my eyes. I could feel him bending his finger and twisting and it was the oddest feeling, and suddenly he touched something and all thoughts fled. I gasped, my eyes locking onto his.

“There it is," he whispered. He added a second finger and rubbed inside while smearing the slick from my leaking cock up and down my length. Whatever it was he touched inside sent waves of pleasure out from its centralized location, until I was drowning in it.

“How does this feel?” he asked.

“It feels good. So good. Full.” I was panting.

“You could have more," he murmured, and I moaned, because I knew what he meant.

“I want more," I gasped.

“You’re sure?” he asked, and I nodded, _yes._

I watched with greedy eyes as he rubbed his cock with the grease. He caught my expression and gave a few lazy pulls. “You like to watch me do this, Nico?”

“Yes," I whispered. He stroked himself a few more times and I watched his muscles work under the skin. _Exquisitely made._ He looked down and put his cock at my entrance but then stopped and looked at me.

“You have my heart, you know.” His eyes roamed all over my face and I tried to let him see how that made me feel, not yet having the right words with which to respond. He began to push in, and with every inch that entered me, the world slowed and stilled and finally stopped. It felt _right,_ to be with him like this, like every part of my body and soul recognized every part of his. _You have my heart, you know._ I smiled dreamily at the sensation and he looked down at my face with a similarly awestruck expression. Of course he felt the same thing, I thought: We are connected by an invisible string that can not be cut, tied to each other and to life, and we can make each other feel like _this._ It struck me then that God must exist, and that this was the highest proof of His love for humanity; thus, this pleasure – this act - must be a divine miracle. Yusuf slid all the way in at the same time that I smiled and drew his forehead down to mine. _I will love you too_ , I thought to him, trying to bridge the divide between our two minds. He put his mouth to mine and the world restarted.

He began to move, in and out, drawing moans from me every time he passed over that mysterious spot, pleasure collecting at the base of my spine.

“Yusuf.”

He drew back slightly to look at me.

“This feels…”

“I know," he said.

“So much better than I ever could have imagined," I continued. Yusuf’s eyes squeezed shut at that and when he opened them they were shining. _He feels the same thing. He understands._ He brought his lips to my lips and his hand to my cock and gave me a few tight pulls. I could feel that pleasure at my spine growing; I knew it wouldn’t be long.

“Yusuf, I want to come," I said. “Make me come.” He moaned, and suddenly he was fucking me, his cock inside me, his hand rushing along my length.

“Nicolo," he moaned. He squeezed my cock as he climaxed, his face frozen in the most glorious rictus of pleasure. He pulsed inside of me, once, twice, three times, and at that my pleasure condensed and then exploded. I felt every muscle in my body contract, heard myself groaning and cursing, but I didn’t care, I wanted him to hear what he did to me. It seemed to go on forever.

Finally, Yusuf collapsed on top of me, his weight heavy and comforting.

“My God,” I gasped. “That felt like dying.”

“Yes," he agreed, catching his breath too, “and we should know.”

I laughed, and he moaned against my skin. “That felt good. You tightened up around my cock when you laughed.” He sighed and curled his fingers in mine. “Now I have another reason to make you laugh.”

We lay there, sweaty and at peace, until we fell asleep.


	20. Chapter 20

**Yusuf**

My first thought upon waking was _thank God it’s still dark out_. Judging by the light coming from outside the window we had another hour or so before we’d need to leave to join the group by dawn. My second thought was of Nicolo’s cock, which was resting hard against my ass.

_Nicolo’s cock_. Images bloomed in my head – his look of confused wonder when I hit that spot inside of him, the way he’d looked at my body when I stood before him naked, his face when my cock got as deep as it could go, when he’d pulled my forehead to his. That, most of all. It had felt…divine. Beautiful. Destined, perhaps. I thought back to the time I starved to death at the base of the mountain, when my last desperate thoughts had been of Nicolo. What had he said last night? _So much better than I ever could have imagined._ That day my dying mind had cast out for the happiest fantasy I had ever had, and the reality of it had surpassed even that. Love.

I turned over to look at him. He frowned in his sleep at my movements and that _frown_ made happiness burst in me. _He lets you see him like this. No one else ever has. No one else ever will_. That thought gave me pause. Never? What if we truly never died? It didn’t seem possible that even love could last as long as we might live, and what would I do if Nico took himself away from me?

Hesitation crept in at the thought, and I remembered what else he had said last night: _I want to make the damnation worth it._ In the overwhelming pleasure that followed, in the mad feelings of destiny that had crowded my mind when I’d been inside of him, I’d forgotten how it had made me feel: Like I, Yusuf, was incidental to the act, that if he weren’t so attracted to me he wouldn’t give in to what was between us.

_You have my heart, you know_. He hadn’t responded.

Hesitation became worry: What if this was a mistake? I had been half in love with him when we were strangers who’d murdered each other; now that I knew him, saw how we fought together, knew his sly sense of humour and the kindness of his heart and how it felt to be inside of him, I was gone with love. But if he didn’t feel the same, and we lived forever...he would leave me, someday. Of course, even if he did love me, he might leave. Forever is a long time.

Most frightening of all: What if he could never love me because of his God? What if, four hundred years from now, he still felt that he was damned because of _me_?

My eyes roamed over his beautiful face. I traced the rounded slope of his nose; the wide softness of his mouth; the dark spot just to the left of his bottom lip. His marvelous eyes moved under his eyelids as he dreamed, his brows knitted together slightly. His dark hair partially obscured his forehead.

Before my thoughts had gotten the better of me, I’d wanted to kiss him awake and tell him everything that was in my heart, but now I wasn’t as sure of his response. I loved him, but I had no idea how he felt about me. I turned back over so that he was draped against my back again and closed my eyes.

Immediately, Nico mumbled against my neck, “I thought you might kiss me.”

_He knew you were watching him and he let you look._ “Didn’t want to wake you,” I said. “One of your skills is pretending to sleep, I see.”

“Mmm. There were lots of nieces and nephews back home always wanting something. If you’re asleep, they can’t bother you. I learned that quickly.” I smiled, imagining a grumpy Nico pretending to snore while children prodded at him.

“Clever,” I said.

“Yes,” he agreed, “I am a very clever man.”

He kissed at the back of my neck and lightly pushed his cock against me. I pushed back. _Make the damnation worth it_.

“How long do we have?” he asked as he mouthed at my neck and shoulder.

“Not long,” I responded.

I drew my arm up to thread my fingers through his hair and keep him pressed against me. His teeth came down and bit where my shoulder and neck met and I was suddenly, achingly erect. _If it’s lust he feels for you, give him your lust back,_ I thought. _Make him feel as powerless as he makes you. Make the damnation worth it._

“Nico.”

“Yes, Yusuf?”

“Fuck me.” _Use me_ , I thought. I felt him draw back slightly at the blunt statement.

“You would want that?”

I nodded, yes. I felt his cock pulse behind me.

“Where’s the jar?” he asked.

“Don’t need it. Just spit.” My blood was up, I already felt desperate, I wanted him to be inside and I wanted it to hurt. He’d made me feel so helpless yesterday, like I was just a body he couldn’t help but use, and despite how that hurt me– or perhaps because of it – I was suddenly intoxicated by a feeling of righteous anger with myself and with him. I was powerless in the face of his love. I couldn’t help but love him. He couldn’t help but want me. So I wanted to force him to use me, hurt me again, and damn himself.

“Now,“ I said. “Come on; fuck me.”

Nicolo breathed heavily against the back of my neck and drew his left hand up to press against my throat, like I had done to him in the forest, before. I could hear him thinking, and I didn’t want that.

“Come, Nicolo, fuck me.” I arched against him so that his cock slid between the cheeks of my ass. “Pull my hair, press down on my throat.” He did both and I choked slightly.

“Yes, like that, that’s perfect.” He was rutting against me now; I felt his come lubricating the slide. _More_. _You love him_ , _and he wants_ _you against his better judgment._

“I want to feel you come inside of me; I want to feel it,” I said. He pulled my hair hard and I groaned. It felt so good, God above, it felt good. “Spit on your hand, rub it on your cock, and fuck me.” He moaned brokenly and I felt a little spurt of wetness against my ass.

“Did you just come?”

“No,” he moaned, “but I’m very close.”

“Good, because I want to feel you come inside me. Don’t come until then.” I felt him nod jerkily against my neck.

“Do you understand?” I said. It sounded cold, to my ears. “Don’t disappoint me.”

“Yes! Yes I understand. Fuck, Yusuf, yes, I understand.”

I felt him pull away slightly, heard him spit, and then two of his fingers entered me fully. I hissed against the intrusion and turned my head toward the mattress, my hands scrabbling for purchase.

“I’ll give it to you,” he said, and pushed my front fully down onto the mattress. “I’ll give you my come,” he muttered. I could hear him slicking himself down behind me. Facedown, I felt his cock at my entrance, felt him press inside until just the head entered. He hissed.

“Yusuf, God, this feels good,” he said through a moan, pushing in a bit more. I pushed back, desperate to feel him completely inside, and then he was. He bit my neck and grunted, music to my ears. I still needed more.

“Is this what you want, Nico? Your cock in me?”

I felt him nod against me, “Yes.”

Pleasure arced through me, sharp and intense. “And my cock in you?”

He sped up, rolling his hips, driving me into the mattress. Used. “Yes, Yusuf, I want whatever you’ll give me, whatever you want.” _You have him right where you want him. Make him want you more than God. Make him love you more than God._

“Come,” I commanded. His hips sped up, moving in and out, and despite my misgivings, despite everything I’d done to make this dirty and soulless, I felt my heart contract. _Nico is inside of you and you_ made _him do it. Is this how you show him your love?_

I must’ve tensed up in a way to indicate something besides pleasure because Nico instantly stopped and asked me what was wrong.

“Nothing,” I said, “I -“ _I love you and this doesn’t feel right._ “I want to turn over.” He pulled out and I rolled over so that we were face to face.

Immediately his right hand came up and cupped the side of my face.

“You’re right, this is better,” he murmured, before leaning down and kissing me. Our eyes locked and my mouth opened under his and suddenly – I was gone. My anger and hopelessness fled, replaced with the same sense of wonder I'd felt last night. I was helpless, in truth, but willing and happy to surrender to it, and to my beloved. A soft sound I hadn’t wanted to make slipped from my mouth to his, as he entered me again.

He moved in and out, but it was languid, all of the urgency gone. I hiked my legs up higher around his waist so he could get even deeper and twined my arms around his neck to pull him down so that he couldn’t see my face.

He hummed. “I can’t believe how good this feels,” he said, moving in and out. I said nothing. “Being inside of you, it feels…” he trailed off, closed his eyes, “I don’t have the words.” He said something in his native tongue.

“It feels like the sun on my face, after a long winter,” I said against his neck. I couldn’t help it.

He pulled back slightly and stared at me for a long moment, and then nodded. “Yes.”

He brought his head back down to my neck and bit down slightly. Our breathing became harsher and harsher as we drove each other towards release.

“Come inside me,” I said, licking his ear, “I want to feel you in me when we’re on the road.” I bit down on the soft lobe of his ear and he groaned like he’d been mortally wounded, and let go. As he spurted inside of me, I reached between us and gave myself three short strokes, and let the pleasure take me too.

As we came back to the world, I thought, _Tell him you love him. Tell him you would die a thousand deaths to be with him for a day; that you would spit in the devil’s face to see him smile; that you would kill anyone who would cause him pain._

Nico put his forehead on mine and said, “Thank you.”

_Thank you,_ I thought. _He says thank you while you think of love. Yusuf, you romantic fool._

I tried to stifle my thoughts as he kissed me languidly; instead passing my words of yearning and devotion into his mouth with my tongue and hoping that he would understand.

We kissed, and held each other, until I could no longer ignore the sky’s rapid retreat from deepest blue to something lighter. Soon enough it would be the color of Nico’s eyes, and then we would be late.

Nico’s head lay against my chest, my fingers lazily tracing paths up and down his arm slung over me.

“Nicolo, we have to get up.”

His answering sound told me he did not agree with my assessment. His eyes stayed closed.

“Nico.” I poked his arm. “Nico. Get up.”

He did not move. “Nico.” I poked him again. I saw a small smile.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” I thought of how my mother used to wake us when we were children, and started tickling him. It worked; he shot completely out of bed.

“My God Nico, you have the reflexes of a cat,” I said, staring. I'd never seen someone move so fast.

“I am particularly ticklish,” he said primly. I laughed.

“You should not have told me that. I’ll remember it, you know.” He looked to the ceiling, chagrined. “Tell me your other weaknesses,” I said, and he laughed a little. “No, really, please enumerate them so I might now how to best get you out of bed in the future.”

“It would help if you stopped looking like that,” he muttered.

“What was that? I didn’t catch that.” I had.

He walked back to the bed and leaned over me. “You heard me. I will not be tricked.” We smiled at each other and he pressed his lips to mine.

“Chamógelo,” he said. _Smile_ , in Greek _._ “Do you remember? You taught me that word so long ago. I’ve never been able to say it without thinking of you, and your smile, that day in the woods.”

Love, potent and intense, flooded my system at his words. He looked at me expectantly. _He must love you_ , I thought. _He must._

“I do, Nico. I remember.”

He smiled and put his forehead to mine. We breathed each other’s air for a few peaceful moments.

Finally, he said, “We really do need to get moving, Yusuf. I can’t believe you’re still abed.”

I pulled away and laughed. The cheek.

He kissed me again, quickly, and then turned to start dressing. Back out into the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks again to everyone for your kudos and comments. It's insanely motivating to hear that you're digging the story, and how I'm handling it and them. 
> 
> It definitely helps me write and post faster, too. For example, I'm writing these notes in between a very full day of meetings while I stuff a salad into my face. So. Keep it coming, is what I'm saying. And, again, thank you, for real.


	21. Chapter 21

**Nicolo**

We stomped our feet and rubbed our hands together, trying to draw in some warmth from the frigid air, as we waited at the caravan for Malik and Akil. In the frigid post-dawn air, our breaths made little white clouds float above us. _We should have stayed in that warm bed_ , I thought as I breathed into my hands, _you could have his warm hands on you right now if you’d just stayed._

“Where are they?” Amir asked no one in particular.

“Don’t know, boss, seems like they might still be asleep,” responded Yusuf. He was just a pair of eyes – his entire body was covered with either his coat or a scarf to keep out the cold. _He’s very particular about temperature_ , I thought.

“Were you with them last night?”

“No.”

“Hmmm.” He looked over at Fatima and the children. The children were petting the new goat and exclaiming over its odd eyes. He whispered, “I bet they’re still asleep in the arms of some whores, they are the worst kinds of –“ he stopped and rolled his eyes at something behind us. We turned to see Malik and Akil walking quickly over, Malik dragging on his coat and Akil finishing his head wrap. They both looked the worse for wear.

Amir crossed his arms and waited for them to approach.

“Good morning!” said Malik, overcompensating. “What a glorious day it is! Apologies for our lateness, everyone, time got away from us.”

“You’re very late,” was Amir’s response. “We’ve been waiting. Yusuf and Nicolo got here before the sun was even completely up. My children, who would sometimes rather die than get up when it’s cold and early, are here. My wife is here. Where were you?”

The girls were now staring with fascination at the interaction while Fatima tried in vain to distract them.

Malik looked at Akil and then the children. He grimaced slightly before saying, “It’s not for children’s ears.”

Amir threw up his arms and made a noise of disgust. “Fine! Fine! You’re here now, let’s go before we lose any more time. Malik, you can be in charge of the goat.” Malik groaned in displeasure.

* * *

Our standard order on the road was Akil and myself ahead of the caravan (better shots), with Yusuf and Malik behind (quicker on horses; better swordsmen). Today, though, as the great plains spread out before us, with sightlines until the ends of the earth in every direction, we all rode together behind the caravan, trying to get Akil, who was deeply hungover from his night in Kashgar, to vomit.

“Hammad told me he’s making boiled sheep’s tongue for dinner tonight,” Yusuf said conversationally to me. Akil grimaced. “You’ve had boiled sheep’s tongue, Akil?”

“Please stop,” he responded.

“Oh, it’s delicious. My favorite thing about it is how the tissue really separates from itself so that you can feel each individual fiber in your mouth.”

“I love that too,” Malik chimed in. “It really…” he paused and gestured with his hands as if conjuring up the right words, “disintegrates, when you’re chewing. So soft, you know? You hardly know if you should chew or just swallow.” He looked over evilly at Akil, who was becoming increasingly green. I felt somewhat bad for the man, but not enough to intervene; this was very entertaining; besides, I had money on the winner.

“Though, nothing compares to the best thing of all…” Yusuf trailed off, looking to Malik with his eyebrows raised, as if to say _your turn_.

“Eyes,” said Malik abruptly. Yusuf and I turned to look at him. _Eyes?_ “Yes,” he said, obviously thinking very hard. “The way they…” he paused and grimaced, “the way they… pop.”

Akil stopped his horse and leapt off, running to the side of the road as we laughed. We stopped our horses and listened to the sound of his retching.

“Well done Malik,” I said, “I had my money on Yusuf getting him, but, ‘eyes’. Inspired. Disgusting, but inspired.”

“I panicked,” said Malik. “Now I can’t stop thinking about it. ‘The way they pop…’” he shuddered. “I might vomit myself.”

Akil walked back over to his horse on shaking legs and mounted up.

“I’m going to kill you,” he said to Malik. He took a long drink from his waterskin and spat onto the ground.

“No you won’t,” he responded easily. Akil grimaced and took another swig.

“ _Eyes_ ,” he said, “Malik, that’s disgusting even for you.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Malik asked, laughing. “Pay up, Nicolo.” I sighed and counted out some coin from my saddlebag.

“I’ll get that back,” I said as I handed it to him. “Just you wait.”

“I’m never drinking again,” said Akil, plaintively. “God is punishing me for breaking his laws."

“Yes,” said Yusuf, “’God maketh plain his revelations, that haply you may reflect.’ So, reflect for now, Akil. I’ll get you next time.”

I laughed and Yusuf winked at me and I was instantly warmed all over. I caught his gaze and thought, _I was inside of him this morning._ I looked away and wiped my hand over my mouth, considering. We were weeks from the next town; it had only been a few hours.

* * *

That night, alone in my tent, I examined our night together, turning over each memory like a precious jewel to observe its varying angles and colors. Damnation had felt more pleasurable than I ever could have imagined; my lustful obsession with Yusuf had borne the most marvelous fruit.

 _You have my heart, you know_.

I sighed and turned over, punching at my pillow to soften the straw. In the heat of the moment, when he’d been inside of me and everything had felt golden and perfect, that had felt _right_. It felt divine to be a part of each other, but it _wasn’t_ ; the overwhelming joy of being with him had clouded my judgment. God would not and could not approve of such a union. If, one day, I were to die – and it could certainly happen – I would be cast into the pits of hell just like any other sodomite. I thought again of the man who’d been hung, his feet twitching as life leaked from him. We could greet each other as friends there, with understanding in our hearts, part of the same cohort of sinners.

But I wanted Yusuf again. Even then, thinking what I was, I longed to open my tent and crawl into his so that I could lie against him and feel the safety – the damnable safety – of his arms. I would lay my head against the warmth of his chest and he would place a kiss on my head. Perhaps he would fuck me with his hand over my mouth so I stayed quiet, so the rest of the group couldn’t hear what we did.

I closed my eyes against the image; my cock hardening. I was so weak, and God would surely punish me.

 _Unnatural creatures_ , my father’s voice whispered, _who will never be welcome in the Kingdom of Heaven._ Sleep evaded me, that night.

* * *

A few nights later, we all sat around the campfire, talking quietly. The girls were already asleep. It was bitterly cold.

“My question is; how can it be so cold?” said Malik. “It doesn’t seem possible. How can the world have so many different temperatures?”

Akil snorted. “You are such an idiot, Malik.”

“I’m serious! How is it possible? Summers in Baghdad are so hot you feel like your skin could slide off your bones, but here…” he eyed his crystallizing exhalations. “It feels like you’ll never be warm again.”

Across the fire from me, Fatima and Amir were huddled together. _That would be nice_ , I thought, and looked over at Yusuf.

Akil got up and walked off, stopping once he reached his things. He rummaged through a bag, muttering to himself, pulled something out, and then walked back. We were quiet, watching him perform his task.

“Here,” he said, handing a jug to Malik, “I’m tired of listening to you complain.”

“What’s this?” he asked, taking it from him.

“Baijiu,” he responded. Yusuf laughed, but no one else seemed to recognize the word. “It’s alcohol.”

Amir and Hammad immediately looked scandalized, and Fatima giggled.

“An intoxicant!” exclaimed Amir, “Akil, you know that’s forbidden.”

Akil waved his hand as if to say, _don’t worry about it_. “Isn’t it written that journeying on the road is an exception?”

“It is in my book,” muttered Malik, unstopping the bottle.

Ignoring Malik, Amir said, “That’s an exception only in the case of desperation.”

“We’re desperate,” Akil responded flatly, “besides, is God not forgiving? It’ll keep us warm.” He sat back at his spot as Amir rose.

“Well, I cannot force you not to imbibe, so I shall pray for you instead.” He held his hand out to help Fatima up. “We’re for bed.”

“Don’t imbibe too much,” she said as she stood. She whispered loudly to us, “But please have a drink for me.”

She laughed at Amir’s stricken expression as they walked to their tent.

Malik took a swig from the jug and handed it to Hammad, who declined and left for bed too. He took another swig and handed it to Akil.

“Careful Malik, that's strong stuff,” said Yusuf.

“Oh please,” Malik snorted, “I’m stronger.”

Yusuf shrugged his shoulders. “Your choice.” Akil passed the jug to me and I took a large swig, immediately gasped and choked. Everyone laughed as I caught my breath.

“God above, what is that made of?” It felt like fire going down and settling in my stomach. Almost immediately I felt heated and looser, like I’d had a few glasses of wine. “It works, whatever it is, I already feel warmer.”

I handed the jug to Yusuf and our gloved hands touched. Even _warmer now,_ I thought. Yusuf smirked at me, like he knew what I was thinking, his _expressive_ eyebrows angled up. _He is so beautiful_ , I thought, accidentally.

“It’s made from rice,” he said, before tipping the jug back and drinking. I watched his throat as he drank it down, thought of my cock in there instead. I looked away. He swallowed and wiped his hand over his mouth, passing the container back to me. _This is not an intelligent decision,_ I thought, but drank again and then passed it back to Akil.

We sat and drank and talked and stared at the stars for a good amount of time, all the while watching Malik become increasingly drunk. Finally, when it looked like he might fall face down into the fire, Akil said, “Well, I’m going to pour him into bed.”

“I’m fine,” muttered Malik mutinously.

“You are not fine, Malik, you are very drunk,” he responded.

“Pfffft,” he said in response, his head falling back.

Akil stood and helped his friend up, and they stumbled over to their tents, Akil throwing a ‘good night’ over his shoulders. We watched them navigate the terrain, Malik leaning heavily against Akil, who swayed perilously.

“He’s very drunk,” I said, and in the act of saying it, realized that I was perhaps drunk too. “Hm. I think I may be too. I didn’t know we could get drunk, anymore. I haven’t been drunk for years.”

Yusuf laughed and said, “It’s powerful stuff. It’s put me out quite a few times. You have to drink it quickly, is the trick.”

We looked at each other. The fire cast his face in light and shadow and it made me feel weak, made me accept my weakness. “Come along,” I said, and stood up. I walked on slightly unsteady legs over to the cart that trundled behind the main caravan on our journey. Its sides were taller than me, it was set apart from the circle of our camp: It was perfect for my intentions. I turned and waited for Yusuf to join me.

“Nicolo…” he said cautiously as I pulled him towards me. I shushed him. “I can’t stop thinking about you, about how it felt,” I whispered furiously against his neck. “It’s been too long.” I leaned back against the cart and Yusuf’s arms caged me against the wood. “Please,” I said.

He cocked his head, considering me. I let him see the desire on my face. I wanted him, so badly, even through I shouldn’t. His eyes were dark, his lids heavy; I felt my lips part in invitation. When he lowered his mouth to mine and kissed me, everything else disappeared; the horses’ soft exhalations; the cold wind blowing across the plains; my feeling of incompletion; all gone. He removed his lips and pulled back slightly.

“You must be entirely silent,” he whispered seriously.

I nodded, yes. Anything to keep his hands on me.

He bit the glove off of his right hand and let it fall to the ground. His hand drifted down to my hip, pulled at me, drawing me close until our thighs touched, the lower half of our bodies connected. Still looking at my face, he slid into my trousers and grabbed my cock. I hissed involuntarily and his gloved hand clamped down over my mouth.

“Quiet, Nico,” he murmured, “we can’t have them hearing how much you want this.” _God, the things he says,_ I thought, deliriously, feeling on edge already. I grabbed at the arm that forced my quiet, wishing I could feel his muscles better, the coat in the way, praying that it would disappear, that we could be naked and I could see the strain. My cock began to leak when his finger dipped slightly into the slit at the top. He hummed at my expression.

“God,” I mouthed against his palm.

He cocked his head again. “No,” he responded, quietly. He kept stroking me slowly and my hips strained towards his. He bit his lip and I almost came.

“No,” he said again, “Yusuf.” _Like the dream,_ I thought.

He sped up, using the come leaking from me to ease the way. I bucked against him, imagining his mouth wrapped around me. He withdrew his hand and sucked, closing his eyes at the taste. I could feel his hips moving, rubbing his length against mine with steady thrusts. He reached down and resumed his stroking.

I’d never wanted anything like I wanted Yusuf then. I closed my eyes and imagined him above me, fucking me, his breath harsh as he worked towards release. That beautiful face, harsh with arousal; those hard muscles, straining to please me. He put his mouth against my ear.

“You’re so hard,” he whispered. He stroked me harder, quicker, tighter. “I can’t wait to have you inside me again.” His hand sped up. “I’ll beg for your cock, let you have whatever you want, do whatever you say, beautiful Nico.” I felt the edge approaching, drawing my body tighter, hotter, closer and closer to release. He’d pulled back slightly, to look at my face, so I opened my eyes and pled silently. He leaned forward again and groaned, and it was that broken sound that finished me. The pleasure took me under, killing me with its heat, nothing else in the world except for the perfect sound of his grunts against my neck. I was panting underneath his hand, struggling for breath, as I watched him bring his hand up to his mouth to suck the evidence off of his fingers.

I attacked him then, ripping off my gloves and forcing my hands down his trousers, grabbing his cock with one hand and his balls with another. “Come for me, Yusuf,” I said, “you said you’d do whatever I said. Come.” He groaned as I felt the wet crown of his cock and looped my fingers around it, pulling back the skin as he thrust once, twice. His body seized up, his teeth dug into my neck, and I felt his come fill my palm.

Immediately, awareness entered both of us. His head shot up as he scanned the outside world, his ears attuned to the slightest notion of danger. There was nothing, just the wind and the stars. He sighed and put his forehead against mine.

“That was foolish,” he said.

“Yes," I agreed, “it was," and kissed him.


	22. Chapter 22

**Yusuf**

The journey was beginning to feel as if it would never end. The flat plains were covered in snow now, and spread out to rolling hills in every direction, but no matter how many days we travelled the hills never seemed to get closer. We hadn’t seen another person outside of our party for weeks. Nicolo and I couldn’t be alone. We couldn’t touch, or really talk, or even look at each other without someone noticing. I was fucking cold.

Fatima rode alongside of me, but we were quiet. I had nothing of interest to say.

“I was thinking,” she said, breaking the silence, “that the children might enjoy putting on a little puppet show for us, based upon one of my stories.”

I said nothing, choosing instead to continue looking out over the endless white plains that blended into the endless white sky at the horizon.

“You know, we could make little stick puppets to act something out.” She looked at me expectantly.

“Yes,” I said, "I know what a puppet show is." _Who is this ill-tempered bastard?_

She soldiered on. “We’ve tried to make some over the past days, but they’ve looked terrible. None of us have an artistic eye I’m afraid,” she sighed dramatically, “and, well, you’re always drawing… I suppose you’re very good?”

I cut to it: “You want me to help your children make puppets?”

“Oh, would you?” she said, smiling at me, “That would be wonderful!”

I grunted out something that sounded vaguely like a laugh. It felt like I hadn’t laughed for weeks. “Fatima, you could have just asked.”

“Well, I didn’t want to impose…”

“So you admit this is an imposition?” She sputtered and looked as if she’d lean over to smack me in arm.

“Fatima, of course I’ll help.” I spread out an arm to draw her attention to the endless vista and said bitterly, “What else would I be doing?”

* * *

That night, as we huddled around our bowls of stew – perhaps the millionth bowl of stew on this never-ending journey – Nicolo asked me about my day.

“Something interesting to report, for once: Fatima wants my help with making puppets for the children,” I responded. He looked at me and smiled, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners.

“That should be charming,” he said.

“Charming is one word for it,” I responded, taking a bite.

He looked momentarily confused. “I’ve never known you to begrudge help.”

“It happens,” I said.

He looked around; assessing how well the party could hear our conversation, as always. No one was especially close; he lowered his voice regardless.

“Is something the matter?”

I sighed. _Yes. I want to kiss you right now but people can’t see. I love you but I’m not sure that you love me. I’m tired of hiding, I’m tired of not saying what I feel, I’m cold all the time, and I wish you could hold me, because the last time I felt actual peace was in your arms in that little room in Kashgar, and I think that if you were able to just hold me, everything would be all right._

“No,” I said, “I’m fine. I’m just tired from the journey.” I finished my stew and stood up. “Off to make puppets,” I said to him, and walked over to where the girls sat. I looked back and observed him looking down at his bowl with a frown between his brows.

* * *

It was requested of me to make one jinn, two dogs (“make them _very_ fluffy”, Rashika directed), three brothers, a devil, a chest overflowing with dinars, a woman (“make sure she’s very beautiful”, said Sabah), and a caravan. Each night, I would work on these pieces and submit them to the girls for their consideration. So far they’d been impressed with the dogs, which I had made very fluffy indeed, happy enough with the caravan, and requested revisions on the jinn. (‘He needs to be more frightening,’ said Rashika, sending me on my way.)

I sat at the fire and worked on the jinn, thinking to make him shirtless, so that I could at least draw muscles if I could not see them, when Nico sat down next to me. He drew up his knees and looped his arms around them.

“Hello,” he said.

“Hello,” I responded.

We sat in silence as I sketched. There were too many things I wished to say to him but no way to say it; silence was thus preferable. He looked over at my sketch.

“A jinn?”

“Yes,” I said.

“He looks good.”

“Thank you.”

We were quiet again, the silence thick with the tension that seemed to always surround us now. He turned his head towards me and lowered his voice, said, “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” I responded just as quietly. “I told you, I’m simply tired from the journey.”

“It seems…” he trailed off, “like you’re not simply tired.”

I shrugged.

He moved a bit closer and ducked his head. “I wish you would talk to me,” he said, his voice barely audible.

“I wish I could too, Nicolo, but I can’t.” I looked around the camp pointedly. “Someone might hear, and we can’t have that.” It sounded bitter even to my own ears.

He pulled back and looked at me, sighed.

“Well, I suppose I should leave you to it,” he said, still looking confused.

“I suppose,” I responded. _If you loved me, you would try harder_ , I thought. _If you loved me, you would want me for more than a quick moment behind a cart because you’re drunk and no longer able to control your baser impulses. If you loved me, you would wish to be near me._ It was irrational; we couldn’t be caught together, couldn’t have a hint of suspicion about our relationship, but it still felt _true._

Those blue eyes searched mine. He got up and went to his tent. I resumed my sketching.

* * *

A few days later, as I sat with the girls working on the puppet show, Nicolo abruptly sat down amongst our group and crossed his legs. We all looked at him, surprised by the new person in our midst.

“Let me help,” he said. The older girls and I looked at each other for a moment, unsure – this project had begun to feel like it was _ours_ , which was completely ridiculous, I really was starting to go mad from the strain – but by the time we looked back over to him, Sabah had already climbed into his lap and was handing him a needle and thread.

“You’ll need to thread this, first,” she said in her quiet little voice. “Then you can work on the curtains.” He smiled at her and then looked over at me.

“I’ll do that now, Sabah, thank you," he said, while still looking at me. I felt my heart defrost ever so slightly. _He’s doing this to be near you,_ I thought.

“So, this show,” he said, as he put the thread in his mouth, “when is it set to be performed?”

“Once it’s ready,” said Sabah, staring at him.

“And when will that be, do you think?” He threaded the needle efficiently.

“Soon,” said Karida, staring at Nicolo too, but I suspected it was for a different reason. She was a young woman, in truth, perhaps thirteen or so, and Nicolo…looked the way he did. “How do you know how to do that?” she asked.

“Do what?” he said, as he picked up the cloth that was to be the curtain.

“Thread a needle. Sew. That’s women’s work.”

“Well,” he said, “back home I was surrounded by women. There was my sister, who had three girls, and those girls had two girls each. If I’d asked them to darn every sock I believe I would have been killed. They taught me.”

Rashida said, “How old _are_ you?”

“What?” asked Nicolo.

“Well,” she responded, “you said your sister’s children had children.”

Nico looked at me with a brief moment of panic. “My sister was much older,” he said.

The girls seemed mollified by the answer. He looked back over at me and I nodded as if to say, _nicely recovered._ That moment of connection, the simple reminder that the two of us were the same in our difference, buoyed me in a way I hadn’t felt since Kashgar.

They chattered away and I began to draw Nico’s face, quickly sketching out the shape of his jaw and ears – his hair was getting long – his strong nose, his lips which always seemed so serious but lush – dark eyebrows. I left his eyes for last, thinking of all the marvelous expressions I had seen in them over the years. Murderous, lustful, confused, delighted, smug, loving. The last one was my favorite of course, I thought of him telling me about how he couldn’t say smile in Greek without thinking of me…

“Oh, that’s so good,” said Rashida, pulling me from my reverie. “Look! He’s drawn Nicolo.” The other girls crowded around and I flushed slightly, embarrassed to be caught out.

“So handsome,” sighed Karida. Nico laughed.

“Let me see,” he said. Sabah yanked the paper from me with the impatience of the very young and handed it to Nico before I had the chance to say no. He looked at it and his eyes shot up to mine.

“You did make me handsome,” he said.

“It’s what you look like,” I responded, clearing my throat. I felt oddly exposed; the picture was what he looked like, yes, but I prided myself on my skill in capturing expressions, and the face that peered out from the drawing was the look from when I’d told him I remembered teaching him the word for smile, in that room in Kashgar. I’d been so sure that it was love in his eyes, so love had appeared.

“I don’t suppose I could have that?” said Karida. _Poor girl_ , I thought. _I know your suffering well._

“No, I don’t suppose you can,” I said, but I smiled at her. “I can draw all of you, though, would you like that?”

“Yes!” squealed Sabah, “Do me first.”

I looked back over at Nico, who still stared at me with an assessing gaze. I looked back frankly: I had simply drawn the truth.

So we sat there with the girls; Nico sewing and I drawing, and I felt, for the first time in weeks, something like calm.

* * *

A few days later, as we threaded through a valley with high mountains on either side, I suddenly noted a dark dot on the horizon that seemed to be coming closer. I stood in my stirrups to try and see it better - we hadn’t seen another travelling party in so long that my body instantly read danger in that dot.

I pulled my horse over to Malik and told him to keep a sharp eye, and then rode up to Nicolo and Akil.

“We see them,” Nico said, by way of greeting.

“Good,” I responded. “Be careful.” He looked at me and nodded. _Don’t die,_ I thought.

I turned my horse and galloped back to my usual position, and we continued on.

The dot got closer, separating into multiple spots and then becoming a group much like ours, with guards at the front and back, a caravan and cart and a few animals. As we drew closer and closer my sense of danger grew. I told myself it was just the novelty of seeing other armed guards after so long spent seeing nothing. As we passed by we eyed each other and nodded, gripping our swords.

“Salim?” Amir’s question suddenly cut through the tension.

“Amir?” we heard shouted back.

Amir laughed, “Salim Bahar, God be praised!” Malik and I looked at each other, eyebrows raised. We couldn’t possibly have run into an acquaintance, the odds were infinitesimal. I wasn’t sure if there was a number that small.

Amir dismounted and walked over to another man who was dismounting and laughing. Salim, I assumed. They met in the middle and clasped each others' arms. He turned to us and said, “I know this man! Salim, this is everyone. Everyone, Salim.” He beamed, his arm around the other man.

I suppose odds have been smaller before.

* * *

We decided to make camp after that, to combine our groups for the rest of the day and into the night. Fatima knew Salim’s wife, and they had their two girls and two boys traveling with then too, so it was a perfect excuse for a break from the monotony.

Hammad and the other group’s cook squabbled over spices while making a special meal to mark the occasion, Akil wandered around discreetly pouring what was left of his baijiu in the guard’s cups, and the children kicked a ball together in the snow. It was sunny, for once. I felt, all things considered, rather jubilant.

I smiled and took a sip of my baiju, feeling the warmth slide into my veins.

“Feels like I haven’t seen you smile in ages,” said Nicolo, who suddenly stood next to me. I looked over at him. His cheeks were rosy with the cold and drink.

“It’s been difficult these past weeks,” I responded.

“Why is that?” I shot him a look: _You know why_.

He leaned closer and said, “I’ve missed you too, you know.” I looked away slightly and took a sip of my drink. _Go on._ “It has been torture not being able to touch you the way I want to.” I sighed; it always came back to touch with him. Lust. “But I’ve missed our conversations most of all,” he said, and I looked over at him surprised. “When you’re happy, you make me laugh more than anyone ever has. You haven’t been happy, so I have not been laughing. I miss that. I’ve missed you.”

I swallowed through the sudden lump in my throat.

“I – “ I cleared my throat, forcing down the emotions that were threatening to burst out of me, “I can’t tell you how that makes me feel.” We looked at each other and I’m sure love was writ on my every feature.

“Perhaps, one day, you will.” He smiled, Nico’s smile, private and self-contained, and it took every single speck of self-control I had in me not to kiss him, and damn the consequences. How had I so successfully forced myself to forget how happy he could make me with just a smile? The tiniest sliver of affection and I, as always, went weak. A realization crystallized suddenly: I'd been like a dog backed into a corner, snapping at anything that tried to approach me, even those that approached with love, trying to push Nico away; to hurt him before he hurt me. I had done it that morning in Kashgar, and I had done it for the past weeks. I vowed to change. I loved him, I didn't want to hurt him, and being angry at him for not being more verbose or affectionate wasn't fair: _We couldn't be._

I cleared my throat again, feeling like a complete ass. I needed to tell him what I'd just realized, to apologize for my behavior, but we couldn’t continue this conversation, there was nowhere for us to _go_.

“The girls want to put on the show tonight,” I said instead.

He laughed. “Children are the same everywhere. They have an even bigger captive audience, so of course this is the night.”

“Do you miss your family very much?” I asked. He’d been speaking of his family more often as we spent more time with the girls.

“I do,” he said, “all the time. But I almost feel as if I have a new family, now.” He looked at me, cocked his head slightly, narrowed his eyes.

_Oh._

I turned to face him, and stepped a little closer before saying under my breath, “I have felt bereft without you, Nicolo. I apologize for how I've been recently, I - It was because I missed you. That doesn't excuse it, but it's the truth." I touched his hand quickly, needing that comfort. His eyes widened slightly and he looked down to my lips as he licked his own. "More than anything," I said, "I wish that I could kiss you right now." I huffed out a frustrated laugh and continued, “I will fall to my knees and thank God when we get to the next town.”

“I will join you in that prostration," he responded. There was so much more to say, but we had forever to say it. We smiled at each other and then turned back towards the group. "Would you like to join the children?" I asked him. "They're playing a game that looks very interesting; as far as I can tell they're split into teams and if the ball is kicked into the opposing team's net, you score a point."

He looked at me and lifted an eyebrow. "Might be fun," he said. We walked over to join in.

* * *

That night, as the stars shone down on us and the fire warmed our bodies, Fatima told the story of the sheik and the two black hounds to the group, with our accompaniment. We hid behind a large piece of wood, holding our stick puppets above for the audience. I played the parts of all three brothers, Nico was the jinn, the girls were the woman and the two _very_ fluffy black dogs, and Akil manned the curtains. As we bowed at the end, with my hands on Nico’s shoulders and his on mine and I looked out over our little crowd, I thought, _this is happiness Yusuf. Savor it._

I saw one of the girls in the audience coughing, but thought nothing of it.


	23. Chapter 23

**Nicolo**

It was a few days after what Yusuf had taken to calling our “triumphant” stage debut, that Sabah started coughing and did not stop.

“I am worried about her,” I said to Yusuf as we rode side by side on the trail. The mountains were stark here, jagged and covered in snow, so it seemed somehow portentous when he turned to me and said simply, “Me too.” There wasn’t much more to say.

The next day Karida and Rashika also started coughing, and did not stop, so we decided to make camp. Yusuf didn’t like it – ‘too exposed’, he said – but I argued for the break. To hear Sabah’s little chest vibrating while trying to suck in air was a terrible thing, and I wanted all of the girls to be able to rest. We picked a spot as far off of the road as possible, but in the high mountain passes there wasn’t much room. Yusuf was right: We were exposed.

That day, Fatima and Amir tried to keep the girls comfortable, and Hammad made his heartiest soup – not that the girls could keep it down – and we sat there, quite useless, waiting for whatever would come next.

Late in the day Fatima joined us at the fire and told me through tears that Sabah and Rashika’s hearts were fluttering nervously almost all the time now. I remembered illnesses past, back home; my sister and her husband’s terror that this would be the time death came to visit one of their children. We had always been lucky – I had thought that perhaps death stayed away because of me. Here, all I could do was hold Fatima’s hand, and pray.

By the end of the day, Malik was coughing. The next morning, Yusuf was. By that time, Sabah could barely swallow.

* * *

We naturally fell to nursing those that we were closest to, so for days I sat at Yusuf’s bedside and watched his body shake with fever. It was frigid in the mountains, so it seemed inconceivable that he could be so hot, but every time I touched his forehead it was covered in sweat. He slept and moaned and struggled to breathe. I would hold my head to his chest until I could hear his heart beating, to assure myself that he yet lived.

“How do you think this works, Nico?” he asked me in the night on the second day. His breath was reedy; something was wrong with his lungs.

“What do you mean?” I asked quietly.

“If our bodies heal themselves so quickly – “ he coughed violently for a few seconds, “- how can I be so ill?”

“I don’t know,” I responded. “This has never happened to you before?”

He nodded heavily, no. I panicked briefly at that answer. What if we only recovered from violence? I dismissed the thought as quickly as I’d had it – if he’d recovered from starving to death, surely he would recover from this.

“Perhaps I should slit your throat so we can be done with it,” I said.

He smiled weakly and said, “I’ve considered that. Let’s give this a few more hours and then revisit the idea. For now, I’ll stay sick.” He looked up at me and said, “I’m enjoying this undivided attention far too much to let it go.”

I rolled my eyes at him through a smile and put another cold compress on his head. He closed his eyes and fell asleep.

* * *

By the morning of the third day he appeared to be slightly better: His body wasn’t racked with chills, and his fever seemed to have broken.

“Tell me something,” he said. He laid flat on his back with his eyes closed, another compress on his forehead.

“What?”

“Anything. I want to hear your voice – you have a lovely voice.” I blushed; glad he couldn’t see me. “What was your mother like?” he asked. I sat back and considered.

“I barely remember her, in truth. She died when I was very young. Everyone told us that Alessandra took after her so I can only assume that I would have liked her.” He stayed quiet and I cast my memory back to my childhood. _Stone floors, light streaming in from the windows, my mother and father sitting at the fire, a dog at their feet._ “I remember…her laugh, I think. It was much louder than a woman’s laugh is supposed to be, very boisterous. My father used to say that if she laughed, everyone did.” I sighed and ran my hands through my hair. “It’s my understanding that he loved her very much. He was a happy man when I was a child but after she died…he was different.”

“In what way?” Yusuf now observed me with his dark brown eyes, which, I noted absently, were no longer bright with fever.

“He was angry. I don’t recall him ever raising a hand to any of my siblings before she died, but after it seemed like the slightest thing could put him into a rage.”

“He beat you?”

“Not me, no. I became very good at placating him; I could read his emotions fairly easily. But my brothers…”

“Your sister?”

“No. No, never, I think he saw my mother when he looked at her.” I sighed. “Truly, I’m surprised he didn’t beat me, he always looked at me like he could see straight through me.”

“If he could see straight through you he would have loved you very much,” Yusuf said solemnly.

“That’s very kind. But I do not believe he felt the same way. I think… I think he knew what was wrong with me before I ever did.”

“What was wrong with you?” he asked before he was seized by another coughing fit.

“We can continue this conversation later,” I said, “Talking seems to be making you worse.” He finally caught his breath and nodded his head no. He gestured as if to say, _go on._ I didn’t especially want to, but I did.

“He felt I was soft, I think. I was always more inclined to visit the animals on the farm or play pretend with my sister than fight with the other boys. I preferred to read. Little things like that, you know.” I hesitated briefly at the next part, but decided on honesty. “When I was young – perhaps six or so; young enough to be on his shoulders – he took me – _only_ me - to see a man hanged. The man was a…” I trailed off as I realized that I didn’t know the word for sodomite in Arabic, “a man who lays with other men. They caught him with another man I suppose, and they…they hanged him. It was horrible, the hanging, not just because a man died but also because the people were so happy to be there to _watch_ that man die. He looked right at me before they put the sack over his head. It’s always stayed with me.” I saw his legs dancing and jerking in my mind’s eye. I couldn’t look at Yusuf. “But, as I said, my father only took me, and he made very sure I understood why the man had died. I think he knew of my… of what I am…before I did.” I looked over at Yusuf then. He was raised up on one elbow, staring at me very seriously.

“Nicolo, there’s nothing _wrong_ with you.”

I laughed bitterly. “Of course there is! We are unnatural creatures and sinners. Just because this feels right doesn’t mean that it is.” I felt myself tearing up and tried to blink it back before Yusuf noticed. _If your father could see you now._

“That’s exactly what it means,” he said. “Nicolo, look at me.” I did. “The Bible, the Quran…I don’t believe anymore that they’re the literal word of God. It’s written that ‘every soul shall taste death’, and yet, here we are. There are exceptions. What we share… how can it be a sin?”

“That’s _why_ it must be a sin,” I responded, feeling something like panic, “it’s too good.”

Yusuf shook his head and sat up, moved closer to me. He put his hands on either side of my face and looked me in the eyes.

“Nico, please listen to me. There are ten commandments in the Quran that detail our sins. In each commandment, we are taught not to hurt each other. Do not kill; do not steal; do not lie. _That’s_ what God wants us to do; he doesn't want us to _hurt_ each other. He wants us to be kind. And you…you are so kind. The kindness in your heart causes my own to shudder because I know that I will never be as fundamentally _good_ as you are. You are not a sinner.” His forehead touched mine and I stared into his eyes, entranced by his words and the way he looked at me. “When you are not near me, I hurt so much I feel that it must be a sin. When we are together, it’s divine.”

I stared into his eyes and he stared back. I could feel him willing me to understand. I did: He loved me. I felt immediately lightheaded at the realization, like my body was not my own. I sucked in a breath and kissed him; I could do nothing else. As always, the world disappeared. There was no tent, no sickness, no suffering, _no death_ , just the two of us. _Divine._

He breathed out on a shudder and then quickly pulled away as a coughing attack hit him. _Oh right,_ I thought, my head clearing, _he’s very sick. He loves me, but he's very sick._

After he caught his breath he fell back against his bedroll and began to laugh. “This is not how I thought this would go.” He coughed again before looking over at me. “Maybe you should just kill me.”

I chuckled and leaned down to kiss him again, lightly. “After that speech?” I said against his lips, “Never.”

Just then I heard a whistle of alarm from Akil. We looked at the tent’s entrance and then back at each other.

“I’ll be right back,” I whispered. I kissed him again. “Stay here.”

He nodded and laid back.

I slipped on my coat as I stepped out of the little tent into the sunlight, shielding my eyes against the blinding light of the snow, trying to put aside the life-changing interval with Yusuf. _He loves me._ I spotted Akil standing near the road, with his hands rested casually on the hilt of his sword. He pointed down the mountain path and I turned to look.

“See them?” he asked.

“I do. Three men?” 

“Yes.”

“Malik is still ill?”

“Yes. Yusuf?”

“Yes, though he seems to be recovering.”

“Might need him,” he said bluntly.

“I’ll check.” I walked back over to Yusuf’s tent and opened it.

“Do you think you could fight?” I asked him. He sat up and winced, coughing again into his fist.

“If needed, yes, though I’m not sure how helpful I’ll be. What’s happening?”

“Three men on horseback are approaching.”

“All right,” he said, rolling over and standing up. “I’ll be out.” I nodded and closed the flap, ran over to the caravan and opened the little door. Fatima and Amir turned to me questioningly. The girls barely seemed to move. “There are men on horseback approaching,” I said. “Stay in here, and keep quiet.” They nodded and I shut the door.

“He’s coming,” I said to Akil as I walked back over.

“Good,” he responded. We stood and watched the men approach. Yusuf joined us.

“Up for a fight?” asked Akil.

“Not really,” Yusuf responded, coughing again.

As the men approached I realized that they were pale and blue eyed like me. Yusuf and Akil seemed to realize it at the same time because they turned to look at me with their eyebrows raised, as if to say, _after you_.

“I’ll try to talk to them,” I said and they nodded. I walked forward as they approached camp and raised my hand in greetings, put a smile on my face.

“Hello!” I said in Latin. The men slowed and looked at each other.

“Hello,” one of them responded, obviously on guard. Yusuf started coughing profusely behind me, and the men looked over at him.

“Your friend seems to be quite sick,” he said. I waved my hand as if to say, _never mind him_.

“He’s always coughing like that, don’t concern yourselves. Where are you traveling to?”

“Turpan,” he responded, looking behind me at Yusuf, “He looks like he can barely stand.”

“Trading?” I asked, ignoring his comment about Yusuf.

“Yes,” he said vaguely, then, “Are you sure your friend is all right?” Yusuf was still coughing.

“He is, thank you for your concern. I wish you luck on your journey.” _Go away,_ I thought.

“Thank you,” he said.

They began to urge their horses on past the caravan, and just as they did two of the girls erupted in great coughing fits. Two of the men looked at each other and then back at us. “Are there others sick in your party?” the man I’d spoken to earlier shouted back to me.

“Nothing serious,” I shouted back. “We’ll be off soon.”

“Well,” he said, “I wish you luck on your journey too.” He turned and they rode off.

I walked over to Akil and Yusuf. “That felt odd,” I said.

“What do you mean?” asked Akil.

“It felt…it’s hard to describe, but I believe we should leave. They were too interested in our sickness, but not in a kind way. It felt more like they were noting a weakness.”

“All right. We can talk to Amir,” said Yusuf.

“You should lay back down, Yusuf, you look like hell,” Akil stated bluntly. _Thank you Akil_ , I thought. “We’ll discuss it with him.”

Yusuf looked at me and I nodded to him. “Go,” I said. He walked heavily back to the tent.

Akil and I discussed our options with Amir. Though I impressed upon him my feeling of _wrongness_ in the interaction, the girls were in no state to move, and there were concerns that Malik and Yusuf would be able to stay on their horses if we left then. We decided to move out tomorrow evening at the latest.

Yusuf slept for most of the rest of the day, so I helped Akil and Hammad ready the camp so we could easily leave tomorrow. Amir or Fatima would occasionally come out and sit with us. We rejoiced to hear that Sabah seemed to be on the mend. Because she was the first to fall ill, it gave us hope that the other girls and Malik would soon follow her suit.

As the sun began to set, I ducked in to check on Yusuf again. He was sitting up and drawing.

“You’re feeling better?” I asked, as he looked up. I started to put my hand to his forehead to feel his temperature again, but he intercepted me and drew my hand to his lips instead. He kissed my fingers as I sighed.

“I am,” he responded.

“If you’re not sick anymore you’ll have to come out of this tent.”

“Tell them I’m still sick,” he murmured, “and we can stay in this tent together.” He drew my index and middle fingers into his mouth and hollowed his cheeks to suck. 

“Hmm. Do you want a taste of the _divine_?” I asked, shuddering at the sight. He smiled around my fingers in response and looked up at me. _He loves me,_ I thought. I leaned forward and laid a kiss on his forehead before pulling back slightly.

“Sabah is feeling better,” I said. He removed my fingers from his mouth and said, “Good. A child as sweet as that one should never die.”

“I’m not so sure that’s how it works, Yusuf.”

“That’s why we don’t die though, surely? Our sweetness?” 

“There’s nothing sweet about you,” I responded, laughing.

“You say that, after my speech? I take it back, you are cruel." He grinned and pulled me onto his lap.

“Yes,” I said, “no man who says the things you say in bed can be considered sweet.”

He quirked an eyebrow and smiled, showing white teeth. _Looking like the devil himself_ , I thought, not for the first time.

“Ah, but you like that,” he murmured, laying his mouth on my neck. He drew the tip of his tongue up to my jaw, tracing the vein below.

“I do,” I whispered back, drawing my fingers through his curls. We really needed to stop; I could hear Hammad and Akil arguing about something outside. I sighed and pulled him away slightly by the hair. He moaned.

“As much as I love to hear that sound, we should stop,” I said, pulling his head to lie against my chest. He nodded.

“I know,” he muttered. “I was thinking about how it felt to be inside of you.” I felt him close his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering against my shirt. His hands wandered over my back. “I wish to be there again.” I closed my eyes against the wave of desire that washed over me at his words. 

“You will be,” I said, “but not now. Now, I have to go help break down the camp so we can leave tomorrow.” He nodded that he understood.

“I’ll help,” he said.

“No,” I responded, "You won't. You will stay here and rest. Akil, Hammad and I can get it done without you.” I kissed his head and then extricated myself from his embrace.

“Rest,” I reminded him, as he lay back down.

“I’ll be thinking of Kashgar instead,” he teased, putting his hands behind his head and winking.

I blushed, and he laughed, and I ducked out of the tent.

* * *

That night, I sat at the campfire well into the night, turning over Yusuf’s words in my head. ' _When we are together, it’s divine.'_

Earlier, ‘ _You have my heart, you know_.’

Before that, ‘ _You left me, and I was lost. Even then I knew.’_

He had been telling me for months and I could no longer ignore it: He loved me. He’d loved me for months – years? – and I had willfully shunned it for just as long.

He was a good man; funny, intelligent, and strong. He said the most wonderful things. He made me feel safe. He _loved_ me. I felt my chest swell at the thought, that a man such as him could love me.

I sighed. I thought perhaps I loved him too, but it was impossible for me to ignore decades of God telling me that what I felt for men was unnatural. I wished I could somehow disentwine that version of God from my mind and replace Him with Yusuf’s version: A God that simply wanted us to not hurt one another. I might finally be happy, if I could.

As I sat there, staring into the fire, I became aware of movements on the mountainside. I tried not to freeze, to let them know that I was aware. Dark shapes moved from boulder to boulder, standing out in sharp contrast to the white of the snow. The shapes were men, and they were coming towards the camp.

I stood and stretched, yawning casually as I walked over to Akil’s tent. I ducked inside and woke him, putting my hand over his mouth and a finger on my lips to indicate quiet.

“There are men on the mountainside,” I whispered. His eyes widened slightly. “Get Malik; I’ll get Yusuf.” He nodded and grabbed his sword. I ducked back out of the tent and strolled over to Yusuf’s tent, hoping the men wouldn’t read any tension in my body. I also hoped they would not notice that I ducked into one tent and then another.

I opened Yusuf’s tent flap just as he rolled over and saw me. “Mmmm, I was just thinking about you,” he said sleepily, before I put my finger over my lips.

“There are men, outside. Akil is waking up Malik. I believe they’re about to attack. Get ready.”

He nodded and grabbed his sword. Outside, we heard a yell.

“Be careful,” I said. He kissed me hard before ducking out of the tent, with me right on his heels.


	24. Chapter 24

**Yusuf**

I crept into the camp silently, my senses confused by the incongruity of both imminent danger and apparent normalcy. The fire still crackled, the tents were still up, the caravan thankfully closed up for the night. It was quiet and well-lit, the moon’s beams reflecting off the white of the snow. There were no signs of Akil or Malik.

Movement to my right was the only sign of danger before the dagger struck between my ribs, slicing through muscle and veins. I groaned and wrenched it out, heard the wet sound of the new hole in my body; saw the surprise on the face of the man who’d stabbed me. _Oh, you’ve never fought an immortal? Stabbing is nothing._ I brought the dagger down into his shoulder and yanked him towards me, skewering him on my sword.

"Got one!” I shouted over to Nico, who was by then defending against a bearded man swinging wildly at him. Nico kicked the man’s leg out from under him and brought his sword down hard. Blood spewed from the man’s mouth. He’d be dead soon.

Nico looked up at me. “Behind you!” he shouted.

I turned and brought up my sword just as one came down at my head. We struggled, evenly matched, until Nico’s sword plunged through the man’s chest. He looked down at the blood seeping into his robes in shock, and then back at me, disbelief in his eyes. Nico yanked his blade out and the man fell back.

I huffed out a ‘thanks’ and scanned the camp. It didn’t feel right that there were only three. Just as I turned to say so, an arrow sunk deep into Nico’s chest. He gasped, and blood, thick and red, poured from his mouth. I grabbed his arm and half ran, half carried him behind the nearby cart. He sat back hard against a wheel, blood oozing from the wound.

“Oh, no, Nico, no,” I mumbled, gauging the wound. The arrow was deep, there was too much blood: it would kill him if I pulled it out but he wouldn’t heal if I left it in. More arrows thunked into the side of the cart.

“Yusuf,” he whispered, “Pull it out; I’ll come back. You need to keep the girls safe.”

It killed me to do it, but he was right. I kissed him through the blood and wrenched the arrow free. I watched as the life left his blue eyes.

Staring at my love dead before me I felt rage, pure and sweet, bubble in my veins. I thought, _I’m going to kill every last one of those bastards_. So I did.

* * *

After wiping the blood from my sword onto the tunic of the last man to die, I turned to find Amir staring at me from the caravan in wide-eyed shock.

“Oh my God,” he said, looking out over the dead, their bodies and blood dark against the snow. Six in all, not counting Malik and Akil. I’d stumbled across their bodies earlier; their throats had been slit.

“What happened?” he said, sounding dazed.

I raised my arms and gestured at everything around me. I was covered in blood. “We were attacked, boss,” I yelled. _Should be pretty fucking obvious._

He made a sound as if to say, _I can see that._ “Where’s everyone else?” he asked.

 _Nico._ I ran over to where he sat behind the cart, with Amir close behind. He was still dead, his beautiful blue eyes open and unseeing. _Too long, it’s been too long_ , I thought. Panic grabbed me by the throat.

I fell to his side as Amir skidded to a halt behind me.

“Oh, Nicolo,” he muttered when he saw the body. “Yusuf, I’m so sorry, I know you were close.” I ignored the platitude.

“Nico, wake up,” I pleaded. “Come on, wake up.” I shook his lifeless body, praying to the God I barely believed in anymore that he would breathe. Amir’s hand rested on my shoulder; I shrugged it off. I kept begging for him to awaken.

“Yusuf,” Amir whispered, “he’s gone.”

“No, he’s not.” _Forgive me_ , I thought, and slapped Nico square across the face. He came gasping back to life; Amir cried out in shock above us.

“Oh, thank God, thank God,” I said, dropping my forehead to his.

“Amir, I’m all right,” Nico said, as Amir continued to sputter in disbelief. I felt him smile against my lips. “I’m all right.”

* * *

We buried Malik and Akil facing Mecca and said our prayers above their bodies. Fatima wove two wreaths out of the leftover cloth from the burial shrouds and lay them on their graves. The rest of the bodies, we left.

We packed everything up, and departed that afternoon.

* * *

Exhaustion finally caught up with us late in the night. Nico and I blearily put up a tent and he stumbled in. I handed Malik’s sword to Amir. I felt dead on my feet.

“A few hours,” I requested of him, “and then I’ll take guard. Wake me up.” He nodded in agreement and I climbed into the tent, curling up behind my beloved, pulling him as close to me as possible, too relieved at his continued heartbeat to consider consequences: He was alive, so I needed to hold him. We fell instantly asleep.

* * *

A few hours later I awoke to Amir tugging at my boot through the tent flap for guard duty.

“Thank you for letting me sleep,” I said through a yawn, as I climbed out of the tent, before freezing when my mind belatedly registered the look on his face: He must have seen how I’d been curled around Nico. I stood there as he examined me with narrowed eyes but didn’t move or speak. We eyed each other; him with suspicion and some distaste, and I with contempt. All he'd seen was the truth, and who was he to judge? Besides, what would he do? Kill us? The thought was laughable even if we weren’t un-killable.

I said bluntly, “Amir, I’m sure that you have questions, but I’m exhausted. Can it please wait until tomorrow?”

He still didn’t move beyond nodding in agreement. Then, after a few long moments he said stiffly, “I feel that I didn’t thank you properly, yesterday, so I would like to do so now. Thank you. I believe that my family and I owe you our lives.” He bowed slightly and I nodded in acknowledgement before he turned and walked back to the caravan.

 _At least we have that on our side_ , I thought. He might know that Nico can’t die, and that we had a ‘curious’ relationship, but he also knew that he and his family might be dead if not for us. Immortal sodomites; saviors. Which would take precedence?

I sat back at the entrance to the tent and opened the flap to study Nico. He still slept; unaware I’d left. I sighed, jealous of his unconsciousness, closed the flap, and looked up at the stars. They seemed so much brighter here, in the freezing air. Tomorrow would bring the sun, and whatever reckoning we would need to have with Amir.

* * *

Nicolo poked his head out of the tent just before dawn. His hair looked wild, the lines from his pillow were imprinted onto his skin, and he was still at least half asleep. I thought, _I hope I get to see that every day for the rest of our lives._

“There you are. It is very cold in here without you,” he said through a yawn.

“And it is very cold out here without you,” I responded. He lumbered out of the tent and sat next to me.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much,” I said. He kissed me softly before resting his forehead against mine.

“So,” he said, “what do they know?”

“Everything,” I responded heavily.

“Everything?” he asked. I nodded, confirming.

“Amir saw my reaction to your death, and to your coming back,” I sighed, pulling away. “That could have been rationalized by our friendship, I think. But last night I crawled into the same tent as you and when he woke me up I was still curled around you. He knows, Nico. Everything.”

He hummed and looked out at the mountains rising all around us before putting an arm around me and resting his head on my shoulder. “Well,” he murmured, “so much for discretion.”

I chuckled at his reaction, surprised by his calm. On impulse I grasped his hand in mine and gloried in touching him in the open; our fingers clasping and unclasping in the fresh mountain air for a few dazzling moments.

We sat like that until we heard Hammad stirring in his tent, signs that the camp would be up soon.

“What should we do?” he finally asked. I’d thought about it all through the night, coming at the problem from as many angles as possible. 

“I don’t believe we’re in danger,” I responded carefully. “Once he overcame the initial surprise, Amir seemed more curious about you than anything else. I admit to being surprised that he didn’t broach the subject at all yesterday, but I think perhaps that can be put down to shock. Personally, I think that our relationship will be more of a problem for him than our immortality; he’s a true believer.” I sighed and kissed his head again, drawing strength from that simple act for what I was about to say next.

“I propose that we go with honesty: Tell him we cannot die, and that we are together." _And we are together,_ I thought. "His family loves us and we love them, and months of hardships on the road must mean something. Plus, they would be entirely unguarded if we left.”

“And we just saved their lives,” said Nico.

“That too. He’s a man of honor. He may not _like_ it, but I have to believe that he will accept it.”

“All right,” he agreed, “honesty it is.”

We sat and watched the sunrise, wondering what the new day would bring, together. 

* * *

Amir wasted no time once he emerged from the caravan.

“Walk with me,” he said, gesturing to the both of us and walking swiftly down to a snow-covered field that lay below us. We looked at each other before standing and trotting to catch up with him.

“How are the girls?” asked Nico, once we reached him at the bottom of the hill.

He laughed; there was an edge of mania to it. “The girls? You ask about the girls. They are well, thank you for inquiring. They’re asking about you. I did not tell them that you’d died.” He peered at us, apparently waiting for a response, but of course we had none; this was unknown territory for us as well. “You did, didn’t you? Die.”

Nico glanced over at me quickly and then nodded in the affirmative.

Amir covered his mouth with a hand and mumbled something I did not catch under his breath before turning to me and pointing.

“And you. You knew?” he asked.

“I did, yes.” His eyes widened slightly and he said slowly, as if it were the first time he’d considered it, “Are you…are you like him too?” Nico and I glanced at each other again. _Honesty,_ I reminded myself.

“Yes,” I said, “I am.” I crossed my arms over my chest and watched his reaction, saw disbelief, confusion, and awe amidst many others.

“So you…you cannot die,” he confirmed.

“We _can_ die,” Nico gently corrected. “We _do_ die. But we always come back.”

He kept staring at us, his eyes hopping back and forth between us wildly.

“I have so many questions,” he muttered, looking back up towards where the caravan still sat. We had essentially camped on the road due to our exhaustion and we would need to move soon, to continue to put as much space between ourselves and whatever might be left of the group who’d attacked us. Amir seemed to be coming to the same conclusion.

He turned back to us and his mouth was in a thin line. He considered the two of us for a long moment and then said, “And are you…” he trailed off, looking completely unsure of how to proceed and somewhat panicky besides. Nico, being much kinder than I, said gently, “You can ask whatever you need to Amir, it will be all right.” His face was one of reassurance and comfort; I could suddenly see him as the priest he used to be.

Amir finally cleared his throat and turned to me, puffing up slightly.

“What is the nature of your relationship?” he asked pompously. I almost laughed. Amir had always been kind and generous, but it seemed that discovering us together was bringing out some latent desire for control, or power. He would not have it. I straightened my back and crossed my arms over my chest to remind him how much larger and stronger I was. I said nothing; I’d learned long ago that silence could be one of the most powerful tactics for intimidation. He coughed, looking deeply uncomfortable.

“I mean to say,” he finally continued, “do you…feel for him? In a… in a lustful way?” I snorted in response and stepped closer to him until we were practically chest-to-chest.

“Lust is too base a sentiment,” I uttered quietly. “He’s the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins. He is essential; without him, I would die in truth.” Amir stared up at me in confusion and some fear. _Good_ , I thought. “Will that be a problem?” I asked him.

Amir’s throat worked, bobbing up and down.

“Yusuf,” Nicolo cautioned from behind me, “I think you’re scaring him.” He gently pulled me back and said, “Amir, do you remember when you told me that you would wither without Fatima? That she was your sun? It was a beautiful sentiment.” Amir nodded in the affirmative, still looking at me. “It’s like that, Amir. We hope that you’ll be able to respect it, and that we can continue to protect you and your lovely family, but if not please let us know now so that we can collect our things and be on our way."

Amir inspected Nico for a long moment and finally shook his head no. “You don’t have to leave,” he said, “you can stay.” He looked like he wished to say something else but decided against it. He started walking back up towards the caravan, his boots leaving deep tracks in the snow.

I felt Nicolo brush his hand against my own. He brought my hand up to his mouth and kissed it. “Essential, am I?” He cocked an eyebrow and smirked at me, the very definition of the word coy.

“I only speak the truth,” I murmured.

“You do,” he said. “You always do.” His smile was radiant; but he thought that _I_ was the sun. Without me he would wither.

“Well,” Amir shouted down at us over his shoulder, “are you coming or not?”


	25. Chapter 25

**Nicolo**

I suppose that I should have felt more panicked that our secret was known – at least, that’s how I’d always expected I’d be – but I was not. Instead, it felt as if a weight had been lifted: Someone else knew my most shameful secret, and nothing had happened. Yusuf and I yet lived; we hadn’t been shunned.

In our day-to-day, very little changed. I would take point ahead of the caravan and Yusuf would bring up the rear. We ate around the fire with the group. Amir and Hammad were perhaps less interested in engaging with us for conversation, and Fatima’s eyes seemed to linger on us more, as if trying to find the solution to a particularly bewildering puzzle, but there was no outright hostility. The children were the same, so we could only assume their parents hadn’t told them to stay away. We did not touch or kiss during the day; anyone looking on would see absolutely nothing amiss.

At night, though, we shared a tent. In the evenings we would talk softly and kiss quietly before laying down together. Yusuf would curl himself against my back and wrap his arms around me and it felt _right_ , drifting off to sleep wrapped up in each other like that. In the morning when I would wake, contentedness like I’d never felt before had settled into my bones, and in the soft moments before rising I would blasphemously thank God for every choice I’d ever made and every event that had ever occurred that had led me to be held by this man who seemed to love me more fiercely that I had ever thought possible.

_He’s the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins._ For someone to say that, and to _mean_ it... in the face of such a love, I simply couldn’t bring myself to care if our companions treated us slightly differently. The hissing of _sodomite, unnatural creatures_ ; the man’s twitching legs; my castigation; all began to fade away.

Of course, our newfound ability to be in close proximity brought its own problems: We still had to be very quiet and very still. In the hush of the early morning I would roll over and we would kiss softly, close-mouthed, until it inevitably became urgent and frantic, one of us on top of the other, straining towards release while barely being able to touch skin-to-skin. Someone’s hair would be pulled too tightly or cock brushed with just the right amount of pressure and an inevitable too-loud moan would come from one of our mouths and we would immediately pull apart, breathing heavily, always conscious of the outside world even in our little cocoon.

So when we approached Korfa and Amir suggested that we stop for a few days to hire replacements for Malik and Akil – God rest them – I looked at Yusuf and I thought _finally._

* * *

Yusuf kicked the door to our little rented room in Korfa closed behind him, his fingers already digging into my hair and bringing my mouth to his. We kissed furiously for long moments, trying to get as close as possible, and I let him hear everything I felt: my fierce desire for him; my feverish love, so long hidden, now all I could think about. I wanted him in any way he would let me have him.

“Get on your knees,” he said roughly.

I rushed to obey, dropping down to the rough stone floor and looking up at him through my lashes, licking my lips in the process, seeing myself through his eyes, greedy for it.

I held his heavy-lidded gaze and shrugged off my coat, dropping it to the floor around me. Next came my shirt, which I pulled over my head. I knelt before him unclothed from the waist up.

“Take off your shirt,” I whispered.

He dropped his coat and peeled off his tunic.

“Your body…” I murmured, taking in the sight. “You asked me once if I was overcome at the bathhouse in Baghdad.” I drew my hands up his stomach, feeling the tight bands of muscle, the light dusting of hair. “I was,” I confirmed. He let out a groan above me. “I went to my rooms after we left and touched myself for hours thinking of you, thinking of this. I imagined taking you into my mouth, feeling your fingers inside of me.” I laughed slightly. “It felt good in my dreams but I had no idea how it could really feel.”

I untied his trousers and pulled them down slightly, exposing his hard cock to the air. My own cock hardened but I didn’t touch it; I simply breathed out shakily, waiting for Yusuf to tell me what to do. He looked down at me, one of his hands idly touching his belly.

“What do you want?” he asked me, tucking some of my hair behind my ear.

“Everything,” I responded, truthfully. He stared at me for a long second before removing his hand from my hair and placing it against the wall behind him.

“Suck,” he said, and thrust forward towards me slightly. I had a moment of panic; I’d never done this, but then I remembered what Yusuf had done to me, and how good it had felt, and how long I’d thought to do this. I listened to my instincts, leaned forward, took the tip of his cock into my mouth, and felt the skin around the smooth head. I drew my tongue between the skin and his cock and heard him hiss above me, his hands pressed harder against the wall. I longed to feel them pressing against my head. I ran my tongue from the base of his cock to the tip, in one long lick, looking up at him again. He groaned then, and I wondered if there was any more wonderful sight than this, this beautiful man in my thrall.

“Suck,” he said again, more forcefully this time, and threaded his hands in my hair, pulling me down onto his cock, forcing my mouth open and over his length, trying to take everything as Yusuf could. It was uncomfortable but it felt _good_ , Yusuf using me to feel pleasure. I moaned around him, deep and long.

“Fuck,” he said shakily. “Get up.” I stood up on shaky legs and stared at him, waiting. I was shaking with desire, little tremors running through my body. He looked undone too, his mouth slightly open, trousers pulled down just enough to expose his leaking cock.

“Take of the rest of your clothes and get on the bed,” he ordered. I took off my boots and trousers and sat on the bed, just as he’d commanded. _Fuck me_ , I thought. _Please fuck me._

He stayed against the wall and stared at me, his eyes roaming over my form. Catching his gaze, I dropped my hand to my cock and stroked myself lazily. My other hand dropped behind me and I let my head drop back so he could see how my neck arched, thinking of how he liked to lick and bite at it. At the thought I groaned and thrust into my fist.

“What are you thinking of?” he asked. It sounded somehow threatening.

“You,” I said. The truth. All I thought of.

“Tell me,” he responded.

“About how it felt to have you in me,” I said, as he kicked off his boots and dropped his thumbs into the waistband of his trousers. “I felt so full and…” I trailed off and groaned; it felt too good, all of this felt too good.

“And?” he prompted, as he dropped his trousers and stepped out. I eyed his cock, thinking of all of it inside me, licked my lips.

“And…and _right_. Like you should always be there.” I moaned; God above, I was saying too much.

He walked towards me slowly, a predator approaching his prey. “I want to be inside you,” he said. He climbed onto the bed and crawled over to me, his hands coming to rest on the wall next to my head. I licked my lips and met his eyes. “If I could, I would always be there,” he said, before leaning forward and kissing me. I immediately groaned and kissed him back, not immediately yielding to his force, but meeting it. His hands came to grip the back of my head and clutched at my hair. He wrenched himself away and grabbed my hips to yank me down the bed before coming right back to my lips. I gasped and opened my mouth to his, our tongues meeting and sliding together, and I thought again _fuck me_ or perhaps I said it because Yusuf huffed out a laugh and said, “I will, greedy Nico,” before pressing his face to mine. My hands went down to his ass to pull him towards me.

I looked down between our bodies and watched him slick himself down with what leaked from his cock before lining himself up with my entrance. He leaned his forehead against my own and I said plaintively, “please," letting him hear my agony. We both looked down and watched as he pushed himself into me until just the tip was inside.

“Yusuf,” I begged again, “please.”

He dropped his head to my forehead again and smiled against my lips.

“Of course my heart,” he responded. “Anything you desire.”

He slid further into me, and again there was the feeling of rightness that always seemed to appear when he was in me or I in him. He wasn’t just a part of my body, he was a part of my soul: essential.

“Air in my lungs,” I gasped, remembering, as he pressed all the way in, his hips snapping up to meet mine. I dropped my head back as he pulled out and then slid back in, his cock hitting that magical place that made pleasure bloom.

“How does it feel, my love?” he asked, his eyes taking in my every expression.

“Divine,” I whispered, and smiled at him. “It feels divine.”

We moved against each other, his cock as deep as it could go in me, our breathing becoming harsher and shorter with every stroke. He groaned, and his hands scrabbled for purchase in my hair.

“I want to feel you come in me,” I whispered. “Oh, my love, I want you to fill me up.” He groaned my name in response. _I love you_ , I thought. I did.

“I love you,” I said. His eyes snapped up to mine with a look of shock. I pulled his forehead down to mine. “I love you,” I repeated, and kissed him. A broken sound came from him and he pulled away from my kiss slightly, his hands coming up to hold my face, his eyes searching mine. 

“Oh, Nico,” he said, “you must know how much I love you.”

I nodded. “I do.”

His smile was one of absolute joy when it touched my own. We held each other and I thought, _here is what I have always sought._

We kissed and kissed and his cock was still so hard in me. Finally I said, “Yusuf, my love?” He murmured “yes?” against my lips.

“I need you to fuck me,” I said, and clenched against him.

He somehow moaned and laughed at the same time and said, “Well, if my heart requests it.”

He began moving inside of me again and the pleasure quickly reached the level it had been before my declaration. I was soon transfixed; his curling hair and thick beard, his perfect mouth that spoke of love and laughter, his beautiful eyes with his expressive eyebrows, all concentrated on my face as he moved in me and I felt it everywhere. His hand wrapped around my cock and I groaned, “I love you,” again just as the climax ripped through me, my hips and stomach muscles jerking with the pleasure of it. I could barely breathe as it took me under but I forced myself to memorize the way he looked in that moment, his own muscles tensed, his face focused on my own. A groan wrenched from his throat, his head dropped to mine, and his hips snapped to my mine so that he was as deep as he could get. I felt his come fill me up and an exquisite ache that started deep inside spread up through my spine; a sudden swelling of pleasure that forced an agonized groan from my throat.

When I floated back to the room, Yusuf was staring at me.

“Did you come twice?” he asked. I huffed out a laugh, still trembling.

“I believe I did, yes,” I mumbled. He smiled and laid his lips against mine.

“I didn’t know that was possible,” he said.

I brushed my lips against his and then deepened the kiss, licking into his mouth gently, tasting him as if I had all the time in the world. I suppose I did. We breathed into each other, passing air back and forth between us until our shuddering hearts began to resume their normal rhythms.

“Did you mean it?” he finally said against my chest.

“I did,” I responded. “I do. You have my heart, Yusuf al-Kaysani, from Aleppo.” I hoped he knew that I thought of that day on the docks so long ago, when I left him and began my journey to reach this room, to hold this man, to feel this love. He laid his hand on my chest and felt it move with my breath.

“Nicolo di Genova,” he said. He smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew. Good morning, am I right?


	26. Chapter 26

**Yusuf**

Nicolo had told me he loved me, and I wanted to have the moment burned into my memory so that I might revisit it for the rest of my natural – or, unnatural, as it had turned out to be – life. I felt full with it, as if my heart was too big for my body and it might at any moment simply explode from the love it now contained. I could not stop smiling. We lay there for a long time, softly touching each other and talking about nothing at all. All I could think was _he loves me_.

As the sun went down, the tenor of my thoughts became shot through with lust; he was still naked and we still had the most glorious privacy and I kept thinking about the look on his face when that second shocking climax had taken him. I wanted to make him feel like that again _at least_ one more time before we had to leave.

We were sitting up on the bed, our backs against the wall, our hands intertwined. His head rolled over to mine with that enigmatic little smile.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked.

“I’m just considering something,” he responded. Our hands clasped and unclasped between us.

“What’s that?”

“If it’s been long enough that it’s acceptable for me to want you inside of me again,” he said, those blue eyes sparkling.

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” I asked, drawing my lips nearer to his.

“It is,” he said, his eyes watching mine. I slanted my lips over his and we kissed lazily for a few long moments. “Well,” I finally said, “I think I could be persuaded.”

“I'll try,” he murmured. He drew his hands up and into my hair, his fingers moving against my scalp.

“You said that you thought about me, earlier,” I said, “that you saw me in the bathhouse and you touched yourself.”

“I did,” he muttered. “I do. I think of you every time.”

“What do you think about?” I asked. _He would lie back in his tent and think of you, just as you thought of him_. He pulled back slightly and looked into my eyes. He smiled, so private and small, so fundamentally _Nico_.

“Ah,” he said, and licked his lips, “so, this is how you will be convinced.” He paused for a moment as if to think back to those furtive times. “I think, now, about how it feels for us to be inside of each other. The way you grip me or the way you feel inside, like you’re a missing piece. Before, I imagined us going to bed, imagined you panting for me, as you are now.”

He said that in a matter of fact manner, as it was the fact of the matter: I was breathing heavily, completely in thrall to his words, thinking of all the nights he must have done this.

“I used to have the most vivid dreams,” he continued. “You would appear and I would debase myself for you, touch myself for you, do whatever you told me to…. Those were my favorites; I wanted you so badly but I never understood it, and if you made me touch you, or if you forced me to climax... it made me somehow blameless." My body felt tight and needy, shivering with impatient need but captivated by what he told me: I had felt alone in my desire for so long and I wanted to hear everything. He dropped his mouth to hover above my ear and I felt the heat of his breath against my neck. We'd barely touched and I was already achingly hard. "I tried to ignore it, but I couldn't. I would imagine taking your cock into my mouth and making you feel so good that you would die, so that I would be free of the torture." I groaned, my fingers jumping to clutch at whatever I could grab of him. I was shockingly aroused, already, by his words. "But the most taboo," he continued, "was when I would accidentally say your name." He lowered his lips until they touched my ear and he groaned, "Yusuf."

I replied by desperately kissing him, forcing his mouth open above mine, and the conversation was finished. He groaned harshly and slid his hands down to my hips to yank me forward so that I was flat against the bed. His mouth came down to my neck and shoulders, I felt his soft lips dragging across the sensitive skin there as pleasure tightened further within me. He widened my legs and worked his knees between them before dropping to his elbows and surveying my response: I was struggling to breathe, my chest still heaving from his words.

"And now I have you," he said absently, before lowering down to my chest. His soft exhalations of breath against my nipple were my only warning before he began to suck at it, his teeth scraping slightly against the sensitive skin and drawing a stunned moan out of me. I threaded my fingers through his hair and held him where he was, keeping his mouth on that spot, the pleasure of it shocking me. He moved to the other side and sucked again until the pleasure drew too tight, threatening to overwhelm.

“Enough,” I gasped, and pulled his mouth off of me, “enough.” His white teeth dug reflexively into his full lips as he looked at me and it took my breath away. His hand dragged across my torso, taking inventory and looking greedier than I ever could have hoped for.

"I love you for more than just your body," he said, "but your body…” he trailed off and dipped his head down to drag his tongue along my skin, “it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” _He loves me_ , I thought.

“Come here,” I whispered, pulling him up so that our faces were aligned, eye-to-eye, mouth-to-mouth. I surged up and kissed him.

I hadn’t known love before him. I hadn’t known how it felt to worship someone for their body and and for their soul, how it felt to _know_ how their beloved laughed and breathed and screamed. To want to make sure that no harm ever came to them but to fantasize about defiling their body in practically the same breath. It seemed impossible that someone as good and kind and _wonderful_ as Nico could also make me feel like I would die from the sheer pleasure of his touch.

I brought my hand down to his cock, which leaked onto me already.

“How do you want me?” he asked, throwing his legs over mine.

“On top,” I requested. Brief confusion replaced the open lust on his face. _He hasn't seen this before._ “Get the grease,” I told him.

He hopped off of me and rummaged around in my bag to find it, his back towards me. My eyes wandered over the muscles greedily. He always spoke of my body, but his was well toned and strong too. I wanted to draw my tongue along the muscle that stretched from his spine the top of his shoulder and bite into the flesh there, to leave the indentations of my teeth in his skin before it would inevitably heal. He found the jar and was immediately back, hovering over me. I took a dollop of the grease and rubbed it along my cock, up and down, driving myself a little mad.

“Open yourself up,” I said to him. He swallowed, looking nervous, but obviously understood. Still kneeling above me, he took another swipe at the grease before he snaked his arm behind him and down.

“You did this before me,” I murmured. It wasn’t really a question. He nodded and shuddered slightly.

“Yes,” he answered, “it was something I dreamt of you doing to yourself. I only indulged a few times though; it felt too good." His head dropped forward to his chest and he groaned when I pulled him to more firmly straddle me. I angled my cock up to sit at his entrance. 

"Lower yourself down, slowly," I told him. He shuddered and followed my instruction, his breath hissing out against the intrusion. I forced myself not to move, to fuck up into him the way my body begged me to. He briefly froze before biting hard into his lip and sinking down deeply onto my cock, about half of me in him.

I hissed out a breath between clenched teeth. Still, I did not shift a muscle except to bend my knees behind him.

Holding onto his hips, I watched his body move as he adjusted to taking me from this new angle. He worked himself more fully onto me and let out a broken sounding moan. _He_ _loves me_ , I thought.

“If I died now,” I sighed, “it would be a happy death.” He laughed a little.

“You would die happy knowing that you would come immediately back,” he admonished.

“No,” I corrected him, “I would die satisfied that I left this world while bringing a smile to your face. Even if I didn’t come back,” I grunted as he finally sank all the way down, “it would be enough to know that I went making you happy.”

He groaned out, “the things you say,” just as I dug my fingers into his hips, my need for him urgent now that he’d bottomed out. My fingers would leave bruises, if bruises were something we needed to worry about. I wanted to own him.

I urged his hips to move faster.

“Come on me,” I said. He dropped down, chest-to-chest, and pressed his lips against my neck. My hands dragged along his skin, needing him to feel how badly I wanted him, how much I loved him, even though that both could not possibly be conveyed, even if we lived a thousand years.

“You feel so good,” I moaned, “ _you_ are so good.” He kept moving on me, my cock as deep inside of him as it could get. His cock leaked onto my stomach, a near constant stream; I wished then that I could somehow fuck him at the same time that he fucked me, that I could kiss him softly and pull his hair and hit him, that he would pin me down and choke me, hold me in his arms and bite me, whispering love. I wanted everything. I would never get enough.

“I’ve never felt like this,” Nico said. “Never had another man in me. You’re the only person I’ve ever touched, or tasted, or kissed.” His arrow sank deep into its mark; I became frantic.

“No one else,” I gasped as I looked up at him. His pale body moved sinuously against my own; a blush sat high on his chest and his cheekbones. When he caught my gaze he closed his eyes.

“Touch yourself,” I said. I wanted him as frantic as I was. His hand slid down between us to pull at himself. He sucked in a breath at the contact, and I watched, fascinated by the touch. Further down I saw where I entered him. I dropped my head back and groaned at the sights.

“Yes,” he moaned. His voice was deeper than usual, shot through with the same strain that appeared on his beautiful face. I’d done that to him. I felt his every exhalation and thump of his heart and the way he clenched around me. My body brought him pleasure and my mind made him laugh and suddenly, all of my feelings for him coalesced and became a part of my looming climax.

“I’m close,” I said.

“Good, Yusuf.” He let go of himself and sped up, his hips grinding down against my own. I tensed my muscles and it felt as if I slid just the slightest bit further inside of him. He moaned, and I felt pride at my strength, that I could bring him any more pleasure. The kindest, most extraordinary person I knew.

“You’re mine,” I said. His hands came down onto my chest and his fingers dug into the muscle there, above my heart. I pressed my hands down over them, craving that extra hit of pressure, of ownership.

“Yes,” he said, “I am.” His eyes snapped open to look into mine. “And you are mine.”

“I’ve always been yours,” I responded. Just the truth. He groaned and thrust his hips against mine over and over, his breath shorter and more ragged with each impact.

I’d loved him for so long, perhaps since before I ever saw him. I thought of the blood on his face when he stepped out of the trees, the startled look in his eyes when he awoke to my knife at his throat, the look on his face when he saw my sketch, kissing him for the first time in the field, his smile. He looked down at me then.

“I love you,” he murmured. It was the most erotic thing I’ve ever heard.

“I love you,” I groaned, and then the climax dragged me down, pleasure that had slowly grown and expanded was released, urged on by his glorious commands and words of possession. For a few heavenly moments the world was condensed to where his body touched mine, and there was nothing else.

When I came back, I realized that he still hadn’t come.

“What do you need?” I asked, and he rolled us over in response so that he lay beneath me, face-to-face. I pushed up onto straight arms to better fuck him, the sounds of his near continuous moans and the look of desire on his face filling my head with frenzied love.

“Touch yourself,” I told him, “come for me, my love.” He pulled me down with one frantic arm and the other reached down to stroke his cock.

“Nicolo.”

“Yes?” He shuddered and gasped continuously as he stoked himself.

“Come.”

He came, body clenching up tight around me and uttering a low, pained moan that stretched out around us, his pleasure shimmering in the air.

I simply stared at him, looking my fill, watching the overwhelming tide of pleasure take him and then wash him ashore. His eyes were closed and a soft smile played around his lips. I dropped down to my elbows and stroked his beautiful face, which gleamed with sweat.

“Fuck,” he finally uttered, and I huffed out a laugh. Hearing him curse always surprised me.

“Indeed,” I said, and laid my head against his shoulder. “Very much so.”

“That was…” he trailed off.

“Yes,” I agreed.

“It is hard to believe that it can feel like that.”

“It doesn’t, usually. This is something else. To call it sex is an insult.”

His hand played in my hair and he pressed a kiss to the top of my head.

“I do love you, you know? Not just for how you make me feel.” I propped myself up again, wanting to see his face.

“Oh yes? Tell me more.” Cheeky, to make him smile that fucking smile, so small and self-contained.

“My words will never be as good as yours.”

“That’s all right. Two poets in a relationship would be insufferable.” He laughed, and love surged through me at the sight. “It’s my favorite thing, making you smile,” I said, “making you laugh. I want to spend the rest of my life doing it.”

“Oh, Yusuf,” he responded, wrapping his arms around me, “I imagine that you might.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Nicolo**

For several weeks on the road, all we saw was white. The rolling hills lay thick with snow; the sky was an unbroken milky vista; even my companions seemed to become drained of color, their brown skin becoming more pallid with each passing day.

I was miserable.

I had told Yusuf that I loved him while we’d been wrapped up in one another, in the life-changing whatever-that-had-been in the rented room in Korfa. ( _To call it sex is an insult_ , Yusuf had said, and though I had nothing to compare it to, I had to agree with him.) Before we’d opened the door to leave our cocoon, Yusuf had held my face in his hands and kissed my forehead so softly that I felt my heart flutter. If I wasn’t confident in my immortality, I would have been concerned about the flickering of that organ, but as it stood, I simply knew that it was my body reacting to his love.

Now, as we drew closer and closer to our final destination, I considered what I’d said and thought that I had perhaps made a mistake in telling him; that once again I’d fallen prey to the way he made me _feel_.

He loved me, I knew that absolutely. I’d wanted him to know that I felt something for him too, and in that moment in that room, as he entered me, I _knew_ that it was love. When we touched each other I remembered coming back to life and seeing his relieved face, thought of his beautiful words of love furiously spat at Amir, recalled how I felt being held by him in our shared tent…

I wanted him to be happy. I felt that he was mine. I was the air in his lungs. He was the blood in my veins. His body gave me pleasure like I’d never imagined possible. Was that not love?

_God created man in his perfect image and then created women as their companions. We are told to bear fruit, to multiply._

Yet we are also told that wives and husbands should become one flesh, and Yusuf and I had done that, to a profoundly satisfying degree.

_He who loves his wife loves himself._ _There is no equivalent for men._

Yet it is also said that if we love one another, God lives in us and his love is made complete in us.

_Perhaps you feel this way because you know it’s wrong._

But nothing felt more _right_ than being with Yusuf.

So, I did love him, but I had my doubts; I’d meant it, but I should not mean it. In the face of his seemingly unwavering love, I felt very much the fraud, torn, as always, between what I’d been taught was right, and what I felt in my heart. And I was so tired of it.

My state of my mind was not helped by the unrelentingly bleak landscape since Korfa, nor by our current inability to touch one another. The party had taken on two new guards – Liu Wen and Li Jun – and Yusuf and I had agreed that we should not continue as we had after Malik and Akil’s death, that we should revert back to staying in separate tents, should not touch each other beyond what was strictly necessary. When we’d discussed it in the warm room, with his spend still inside of me, it had seemed vaguely exciting, to act like we didn’t love each other; to make our desire a secret once again. Now, though, it had been too long without his touch and I was beginning to feel the strain of it, which was another notch in the “ _you should not have told him you loved him”_ column of which I mentally kept track. If we were merely in love when it was convenient to touch him, was _that_ love?

As I said: I was in misery.

* * *

One day, as Fatima and I rode alongside one another, saying nothing and staring out at the unrelenting white of the world, she said, “I believe I shall start telling stories around the fire again.”

“Please do,” I responded, “everyone loves your stories.” We fell back into silence; the only sound the soft trampling of snow beneath our horses’ hooves. I glanced back at Yusuf and thought, _I wish I could hear his voice_. It was hell to be able to see him but not touch him or even speak with him.

“Do you think perhaps we’ve died and this is hell?” Fatima asked, startling me into laughter.

“Do you know, I was thinking something quite similar,” I responded.

“I think that’s all anyone is thinking about.”

"Hell is meant to be fiery, yes? It could not possibly be so cold."

“Well, you shouldn't believe everything you hear," she responded on a sigh. "If I have to spend one more day in that caravan trying to keep my girls - who I _love_ \- entertained, with nothing to even _look at_ except for all of this white, I might run out into the snow and never come back.”

“Children are a handful,” I agreed.

“Did you ever have any?”

“No. But my sister, she had three, and they each had two or three themselves.”

She hummed and looked at me askance. “I forget, so often, that you are actually an old man,” she said.

“I do too,” I responded, “if that makes you feel any better.”

“Not really,” she sighed, “mainly it makes me jealous. I already feel the age settling into my bones.”

We fell into silence again.

“You and Yusuf,” she finally said, “how long have you known each other?”

“A long time,” I responded, “we met in battle, at Jerusalem.”

“And did you know immediately?”

“Know what?”

“That you loved him,” she said with a smirk. We’d never outright discussed this with anyone besides Amir, and that was just the one time.

“We didn’t know immediately,” I responded carefully. “We…we killed each other. A handful of times.” She laughed and started to ask another question when Yusuf, who’d come galloping up behind us, interrupted her. I felt my heart beating again.

“What’s this?” he asked. “Is this laughter I hear? Please, let me in on your delightful conversation, so that I might warm myself with your joy and feel something besides this _never ending_ cold.” _I love him_ , I thought, as he smiled. _He’s so effortlessly charming, and handsome, and he loves me._ Another notch in the “ _you were right to tell him you love him_ ” column.

“Nicolo was just telling me about when you met. How you killed each other. Terribly romantic,” Fatima told him with a smile.

“Did he?” Yusuf looked over at me and I swear I knew exactly what he was thinking – that this conversation might prove to be unwise. _I know this,_ I thought back to him.

“So, Amir _did_ tell you,” Yusuf asked her cautiously. “We weren’t sure.”

“He did,” she said. “There are no secrets in love, as you well know I’m sure.”

“Of course,” he responded smoothly, "but there are secrets when that love is between two men.”

She waved her hand, as if to say, _don’t think about it._

“It bothers Amir and Hammad somewhat, but I and the girls think it’s sweet. Anyone can see you’re in love, if you’re looking in the right way.”

_What an unconventional woman_ , I thought. She reminded me more of Alessandra with each passing moment.

“Besides,” she continued, “I’ve heard debates amongst the men about the tribe of Lot. Some argued that he was destroyed for infidelity and rape, and I prefer to believe in a God that would rain justice down on men who hurt women, instead of on men who hurt no one.” She shrugged, as if she hadn’t just entered the realm of blasphemer of the highest order. An unconventional woman, indeed.

“The girls know too?” I asked.

“Yes. I told them that it was love like any other. Karida seemed somewhat upset, but only because she thinks you’re so handsome, Nicolo.”

Yusuf laughed and said, “I knew it.”

“She’s of the age where she feels very strongly about boys, and you only _look_ fifteen years older. We haven’t told them that you don’t age, or that you can’t die. One thing at a time,” she said wryly.

“You,” said Yusuf to Fatima, with an enormous grin on his face, “are an extraordinary woman.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I really am.”

* * *

That night, as I sat next to Yusuf at the fire and watched him in conversation with Liu Wen, speaking a language I did not comprehend, I considered again how much in my life – down to the words I used – had changed since I met the laughing infidel.

Take, for example, the word divine. For all of my life, divine had meant _God_ , our heavenly Father in all of His celestial glory, yet in my time with Yusuf the word had transformed into something new: Now, the word meant _transcendant._ That is to say, every time we kissed it felt divine - as if my soul rose up to greet his.

Another example: Love. Before Yusuf, love was soft and comforting, like my sister’s smile when I entered a room. Now, it was something far more complex and potent – it was the look in Yusuf’s eyes as he swallowed my cock, but also the tranquility that came from sleeping in his arms.

And if words like divine and love could mean such different things to me now, did it follow that the word _God_ – or my understanding of it – could also change?

Fatima had said so casually that her God would not punish us. Yusuf felt the same.

He smiled at me, just then, and I caught my breath.

I was so tired of feeling tortured, and I wanted it to _stop_ , but the definition of torture would never change; it would always be inflicted upon me. I had to look to the tormenter for relief. But was that torturer God or Yusuf? Blasphemously, I wasn’t sure which was which, any longer.

Fatima, who clapped her hands and told us to gather around for a tale, pulled me from my morose reverie. She had not told a fireside story since Malik and Akil’s deaths, and by some unspoken agreement, no one had asked her for one. Conversations came to a close, and we watched as Fatima took her spot on the imaginary stage to weave her tale.

“Long, long ago,” she began, “not far from where we are now, there lived a princess named Thouzla, who was a good and kind person, because she treated everyone with respect and consideration. She was very beautiful, with skin as pale as the moon, and eyes that shone every color of blue and green, but it was not her beauty that was remarked upon by others, but her kindness. One day, she came upon a poor herdsman in a field, who was tending to an injured goat. ‘O – poor herdsman’ she said, ‘that one of your charge has taken ill! I have knowledge of healing, and I ask that I might help you.’ The herdsman was himself a good and kind person, and beautiful too, but he was known for his protectiveness and good humor. ‘My lady,’ he said, ‘if you have the means to heal this poor goat, please do so.’”

Sabah leaned over to her sisters and said, “They’re going to fall in love” before being shushed. I felt Yusuf’s gloved hand rest upon my back, where no one could see his touch.

Fatima continued, “The herdsman watched as Thouzla healed the goat of his wounds, stitching up the animal's injuries before his eyes. ‘O – my lady,’ he said, ‘I apologize for my derision, you are truly skilled in these arts. What is your name?’ She responded with her name and asked of his and he responded, ‘Tayir’. The herdsman’s heart was then captivated with love, for he knew instantly that she was the person to whom destiny had appointed him. He said to her, ‘Death would indeed be welcome to end my torment without you. Favor me with more visits so that I may live.’ So, they began to meet in secret, and their love grew and grew until one day he asked her father, the sultan, for permission to marry. Now, as I said, she was a princess and he was but a poor herdsman - two people who never should have fallen in love - so her father the sultan rejected the proposal and had him thrown in chains to be executed.”

The girls, as always, looked rapt. Yusuf’s hand slowly slid under my coat and clothes and I almost gasped to feel his bare hand against my back. After so long, it felt as potent as one of his drugging kisses.

“Thouzla begged and pleaded with her father, but he was hard of heart and set on her marrying his choice of suitors so he did not listen. Tayir was thrown off of a mountain by her father’s soldiers and left to die for his transgressions.” Fatima paused here and looked out over her audience with a heavy look of great sadness. A born storyteller; an unconventional woman.

“That isn’t the end, is it mother?” asked Rashika. “He can’t just _die_.”

“Well,” Fatima replied, “Thouzla found Tayir at the base of the mountain and fell to weeping and praying. She wailed over his body, ‘I have lost my existence among mankind since your absence; for my heart loved none but you.’ She said to God, who was listening, ‘Take my body, then, in mercy, to the place where he has gone, so I might be by his side. If you utter my name, the moaning of my bones shall answer your call.’ Tayir came back to life!”

One of the girls clapped. Yusuf’s hand still drew slow circles on my back, drawing my skin tight underneath his touch.

“They fell into each other in joy, and Thouzla was all in astonishment that he breathed, so she asked him how it happened that he was alive. ‘I met Death,’ he said to her, ‘and he banished us from his kingdom so you might be saved. You are to heal the world, and cannot yet die. He shall not claim us until our love should run out.’ ‘Well,’ said Thouzla in response, ‘I suppose we shall never die, for the well of our love is endless indeed.’ They are still alive, today, and very much in love, I’m told. I expect they shall live for another thousand years." Fatima bowed, ending her story, and we clapped for her performance.

I looked over at Yusuf as he leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “Not as creative as her usual stories. Too realistic.” I blushed in response.

“So what did we learn from this, girls?” asked Fatima.

“Don’t listen to your father!” shouted Sabah.

“Not the lesson, Sabah,” said Amir wearily.

“Herdsmen make good husbands?” asked Rashika.

“Inner beauty is better than outer,” claimed Karida.

“No,” said Fatima. “It’s that true love conquers all. It conquers fear and hatred, derision and even death. If true love exists, in whatever form it may take, you must respect it utterly.” She looked over at us and smiled, privately. “And now, al-Tammar girls, it is time for bed.”

The girls got up and stumbled off to the caravan. “I want to fall in love like that,” I heard Karida say, yawning.

Yusuf shouted over the fire, “Wonderful story tonight, Fatima. Where on earth did you get the idea?”

“Oh, here and there," she responded with a quirked eyebrow.

“Well, I love a story with a good moral,” said Yusuf, grinning.

“I thought you might like that one, I told it just for you,” she smiled. She turned and followed the girls to the caravan.

“She is extraordinary, isn’t she?” he asked me, quietly. His hand still touched my skin lightly and it was driving me mad.

“Yusuf…” I muttered.

“Yes, my love?” he whispered, keeping his eyes on the other men, who were so far ignoring us.

“This feels too good,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Too good? Just this?” He laughed a little. “It can’t possibly compare to other things we could do.”

“Yusuf, _please_.” He seemed to understand and withdrew his hand. I instantly felt colder.

“What was it, from the story?” he asked as he drew on his glove. “‘I have lost my existence among mankind since your absence; for my heart loved none but you.’”

“We’ll be in Kaifeng soon,” I responded.

“Yes,” he agreed, “we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay on this chapter. This was a thorny one to figure out, plus a big Life Event dropped into my lap that's taken up a lot of time. (Nothing bad - just very time intensive.) Hoping to have another chapter written by next week. As always, kudos and comments massively appreciated. Love you, mean it.  
> \--MarbletopEmpire


	28. Chapter 28

**Yusuf**

As we finally left the flat plains and once again entered hills and then mountains, and followed the Huang He closer and closer towards Kaifeng, I worried about Nicolo. Something felt wrong. No, something _was_ wrong. He always tended to sedateness - he was generally placid; quiet and calm – but this felt more like a withdrawal. With no privacy to discuss it, I was again adrift, as I had been after Kashgar, unsure of his feelings for me.

I had said the truth, when I’d told him that we could move as slowly as he needed to all those months ago. I would have been content to wait patiently for him, to let him explore what was between us with no hurry, but he always seemed to want _more_ and of course I could never tell him no. I called him greedy in bed, but he was greedy for _everything_ : he wanted whatever I would give him, and I would give him anything. He had my body, my devotion, and my love, and he knew it. He knew that I loved him, but the actual words had come _from him_ first. _He_ had told _me_ that he loved me. When he’d said the words to me I’d been overjoyed; now, I felt used, yet again. To tell me he loved me, to treat me the way he had those days in Korfa, and then to pull away? Being overly generous – as I _always_ was with Nicolo – it was thoughtlessly cruel, and it would be a lie to say that I had not begun to resent his capriciousness in the months since.

* * *

The road had become narrower and narrower as we continued our journey, crammed as it was between the Huang He and the massive singular hills that seemed to rise from nothing. The roads were more heavily trafficked than they had been since perhaps the beginning of our expedition too, so we were often forced into a line – Nicolo leading the way and I bringing up the rear.

Usually, Amir rode just ahead of me, his dappled horse swaying from side to side, white and brown, white and brown, back and forth, over and over again, lulling me into a kind of hypnotic state; with nothing outside of my world besides those colors moving to and fro. This was the rhythm of most of my days.

Amir and I had barely spoken since our confrontation months before, but his demeanor had become noticeably warmer towards myself and Nicolo recently – thawing in the same way the world around us had. Still, to have him start a conversation on purpose was a surprise, so it took me a moment to register that he had just asked me what my plans were once we reached Kaifeng.

“Truthfully, Amir, I’m not entirely sure what we’ll do,” I responded, once my confusion cleared.

“You will stay with Nicolo?”

“I hope to,” I said. _I hope to._ He slowed his horse and dropped back so that we rode side-by-side.

“Trouble in paradise?” he asked. I raised an eyebrow at him. If he thought I would share my concerns with him after so long barely speaking he was sorely mistaken. He hummed in response at my quelling look.

“Well,” he said, “ _hopefully_ it will work out, in the end.” He cleared his throat; obviously he had more to say. “I wanted to say – Fatima has been on me about this – that I… I apologize for my reaction, when you told me about yourself and Nicolo.” _This is a surprise,_ I thought, but tried not to show it on my face. “I don’t _approve_ , you understand, but I… I know that it must have taken a great deal of courage for you to tell me that truth. And the two of you have been loyal to my family and excellent travelling companions on this journey, and you…you didn’t deserve how I have treated you. I’ve never met someone like you, and of course what you do _is_ a sin, but you’re both good men and you don’t hurt anyone with your actions, and, as I said, I apologize.”

“Did Fatima put you up to this?” I asked bluntly in response to his rather tremulous speech. He laughed as he guided his horse around a large boulder in the road.

“No. Well, _yes_ , she has encouraged me in no uncertain terms to tell you my changed feelings, but the apology is genuine. I just kept thinking about what Nicolo said, when he called you his sun. Fatima is my sun, you understand? If she were a man… perhaps I would feel the same.”

 _Fatima’s wonders never cease_ , I thought. I wished that Nico were here to hear this.

“Well,” I said carefully, “I appreciate the apology.” He nodded his head brusquely, as if to say, _right, that’s done._

“Anyways,” he said, “once we arrive in Kaifeng, I would be honored if you and Nicolo would continue to work for me, in a more…diplomatic capacity.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” he said, “you two have a very specific and helpful set of skills, and I foresee those skills being of a great deal of use.”

“We won’t die for you, Amir,” I said.

“No, no,” he said hurriedly, “I don’t mean the fact that you can’t be killed, I mean your skills in battle. I’ll keep an ear out for work that suits you. If you’re amenable?”

“I’ll discuss it with him,” I responded. “We’ll have an answer for you soon.”

* * *

A few nights later we made camp next to an unbroken vista of rice fields. Rising all around us were the unusual mountains from this part of the world, tall and black in the night, blocking out the stars where they rose from the landscape. I’d spent innumerable hours studying their unique shapes in my sketches – they were somehow both soft and severe, and I’d never seen anything quite like them.

I took my meal, as I often did, with Liu Wen, who had been patiently helping me learn his native tongue so that I might be fluent by the time we arrived. Months ago, when we’d begun our conversations and I was still giddy with Nicolo’s profession of love, I’d asked him all about the neighborhoods of Kaifeng, hoping to find a place where Nico and I could live together without attention. I’d come to the conclusion that we should try to find a place to live near a pleasure ground; according to Liu Wen, most societal rules were lax there, amongst the prostitutes and actors. That evening, as he told me about his favorite noodle stand – which was open at all hours, apparently – I realized that my entire future in Kaifeng was built on an assumption. Despite his recent aloofness, I had still _assumed -_ or, hoped, rather - that Nicolo and I would stay together, that we would build a quiet life in the city, that we would come home to each other every night.

He sat across from me, staring into the fire. I thought, _I love you, you selfish indecisive bastard_. He looked up at me as if he heard the thought, and I held his gaze until he finally looked away. It was time to end the assumption, so I made my excuses to Liu Wen and walked over to Nicolo.

“Is this seat free?” I asked, gesturing to the open spot next to him. There was no one near us.

“As you see,” he responded. “Please, sit.”

I did. He still stared at the fire and I looked my fill of him. I briefly fantasized about placing my hand on his cheek and turning him so he faced me, drawing him in for a kiss. Our lips hadn’t touched in far too long.

“So,” I said, “we’re almost at the end of our journey.”

“Yes,” he responded, and said nothing else.

“Amir has asked us to continue to work for him,” I said. He raised his eyebrows in surprise but did not move beyond that.

“Has he?” he asked.

“He has. He also apologized for his reaction to…us.” At that, Nico finally turned to look at me.

“Tell me,” he said.

“He told me that it was what you said to him about Fatima that made him reconsider.”

“You mean when I told him that you were my sun.” He turned away and swallowed, looking into the fire again.

“Yes.”

We fell into silence again. _He said he loved you, but this is a weak kind of love indeed._ Perhaps I was the sun in truth, because he could barely look at me.

“I told him we’d let him know about working for him,” I continued. “What do you think?”

“What kind of work would it be?” he asked.

“Farming,” I said drily. He looked over at me in surprise and I laughed at his expression. “Spying, I assume. Guarding. What else would it be, Nico?” I chuckled as his lips quirked up slightly and his eyes searched mine.

“You call me Nico,” he said.

“I do.”

“No one has ever called me Nico, except for you and my sister.”

“Well from my understanding of her, I am in excellent company.”

He smiled genuinely and looked up at me from lowered brows. It was so hard to hold onto my anger when I made him smile like that; he made me feel like I was the only person who could draw such uncomplicated joy from him. Of course, our joy was always complicated, in the end.

“So,” I said, “what do you think about working for Amir?”

“I can think of no reason not to do so,” he responded. "It would be good to be able to keep seeing the girls, too."

“Good. I’ll confirm with him.” We sat in silence for a few loaded moments as I worked up courage for my next question. “And, when we arrive in Kaifeng... what would you like to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I had assumed that we would stay together. Perhaps…perhaps find a place. To live.”

“Ah,” he said, and then said nothing more. He was again looking into the fire.

“I speak the language, you know. It would be a simple thing, to find a place.” I hoped he couldn’t hear the desperation I felt. He kept staring into the fire and the length of his pause was starting to make me feel nauseous. His answer would be no, I knew it.

Finally he said, “I want to say yes, Yusuf, but I think perhaps it’s best if I have my own room, at least for a time.” At his answer my stomach dropped into my feet. I finally knew what he wanted: to be separated from me.

“Right,” I said, and tried to stifle my panic. _He doesn’t want to be with you,_ I thought, and right on the heels of that, _he’s a fucking liar._ If there was just one sure thing in my relationship with Nico it was that he wanted me. He was _greedy_ for me. Well, I was greedy for him too. Perhaps it was time to use the tools available to me to help him understand that truth.

I considered my options before leaning in to him and whispering, “You are a fucking liar.” He sucked in a shocked breath. “You want to stay with me. Think of it, Nico, think of all of the things we could do with no one around to see us.” I leaned in closer and held my mouth just above his ear, whispered, “I can’t stop thinking about it. I swear I never stop thinking about it. Don’t you want me to fuck you again?” His face froze, staring into the fire. “Don't you want me to use you?” I watched his profile, saw the tiny affirmative nod. “Good, because I want to use you and fuck you too. I want to fill you with my cock, I want my fingers in your mouth and your ass.” He took a shaky breath. “I want you to do the same to me. Bend me over and fuck me – show me how much you _love_ me.” His eyes snapped to mine at that. “You can do that, can’t you?” He licked his lips and stared at mine. “Are you hard?” I asked. He nodded again, _yes,_ and kept staring in my eyes, his pupils blown wide. Not once did he look to see if other people could hear us. “I am too. I want to touch myself, and I will when I get into my tent. I’ll think about sliding my mouth around your cock, taking it in as deep as it can go. You like that, don’t you? When my throat closes up around you? When you come like that and your spend goes straight down? I don't even swallow it, when it's that deep.” His breathing had become more of a shallow gasp. _You have him. Fucking liar._ “When we get to Kaifeng, we’ll find some rooms. If you want time apart after that, you’re obviously free to go. But we’ll see.” I pulled away from him and his eyes followed me as I stood and walked back to my tent without a second glance. I was painfully hard, but, almost more than that, desperately proud of myself. I had played that perfectly: My beloved had just needed a gentle reminder of how I could make him feel. It would be a simple enough thing to remind him over and over again, once we were in Kaifeng.

* * *

We said our goodbyes to the family in the courtyard of their new home. The girls gave us perfunctory little hugs before running off to explore and claim their new rooms; I heard Sabah scream “That’s not fair!” as I shook hands with Amir and he told me to come by in the evening in two days to discuss our work moving forward. Fatima gave Nico a long hug, and pinched my cheeks, and made us promise to stay for a meal when we came by.

We closed the door to their complex and stepped out into the street, alone and beholden to no one but ourselves, finally, for the first time in nearly a year. And now, we had nothing but time.


	29. Chapter 29

**Nicolo**

We found rooms on the outer edge of a large bazaar, above a noodle shop that sat between a tavern and what I suspected was a brothel. Beneath our window, men and women shouted at each other, carts bounced over cobblestones, children screamed with laughter; it was the calming babble of any large city. Looking out, I saw a troupe of acrobats contorting themselves into unusual shapes as a crowd clapped, and a man swallowed a sword further down the square. I thought of Yusuf at that particular image, and hoped that he would be back from the market soon. The sun was starting to set.

The door opened behind me and he entered, as if summoned, holding a bag in the crook of his arm and a large wooden hipbath. He dropped both on the floor and sighed deeply.

“I’ll be right back,” he said, and left the room. I picked up the bag and dropped it on a table that sat against the wall, and began to unpack his purchases. There were a few unusual fruits and vegetables, a packet of indeterminate use – soap, perhaps? – and an odd cylindrical item. It was made of stone, longer than my fist, and had a base that allowed it to stand. I puzzled over it for a few moments and realization began to dawn just as Yusuf came back in, carrying a bucket of water.

“Ah,” he said, “you already found it.” He poured water into the bath.

“Is this…” I trailed off, barely able to voice the word.

“A dildo?” He smiled, all teeth. “It is. Be right back.” He left the room with the bucket again and I looked down at the item in my hand. A dildo. Right. I sat it down on the table and peeled back the skin of one of the dragonfruit and bit into it, contemplating the instrument before me.

“You’re looking at that thing like it’s going to bite you,” said Yusuf, entering the room again.

“It might,” I responded, still eyeing the dildo critically. Yusuf poured the water into the bath. “Can I help you with that? Is there another bucket?”

“No,” he responded, “I’ll just get one more. Don’t take your eyes off the dildo, I think it just moved.”

“Ha,” I said. He winked and left the room. _Winking should not make your heart beat faster, Nicolo_. But it did. Of course I wanted him, I never stopped wanting him, I would probably never stop wanting him. I sighed and looked again to the dildo. “What are you looking at?” I said to it.

“Who are you talking to?” said Yusuf, and I almost jumped through the roof.

“You scared me,” I said as calmly as possible. He was smiling, looking from the dildo to me and back again.

“Are you talking to the dildo?”

“No,” I lied.

“It’s fine if you are Nico, but if it starts to talk back please let me know.” He chuckled to himself as he poured the last bucket of water into the bath and then went back to the door. “There’s soap in a packet in the bag. Apparently if you drop a pinch into the water it’ll dissolve. I’ll be back soon. Get to know your new friend.” I scowled at him and he laughed once, short and quick, and shut the door behind him. I heard him clattering down the stairs and thought _I love him._ His natural state was so much more buoyant than mine, and he made me laugh more than anyone ever had. God might not approve, which was still a near- constant source of worry, but I wanted him, and he wanted me, and though I knew it was selfish, tonight I might finally have him again. I took off my clothes and washed myself, the dildo standing guard the entire time.

* * *

He came back just as the sun set completely and I was lighting the first of the many lanterns scattered about the room.

“I refilled the bath for you,” I told him without turning. “If you would like to wash as well.”

“I would, thank you,” he said. His boots thunked to the ground behind me. I heard the sound of the water swirling as he dipped his towel into the tub. Still I did not turn, but continued to light the lanterns.

“How was your walk?” I asked him.

“Lovely,” he responded. “How was your chat with the dildo?” I laughed and lit the final lantern.

“Lovely as well. It had quite a few fascinating opinions on clerical law. We argued, and I ultimately had to concede on a few points.”

“I have heard that they can be quite opinionated.” That was when I turned to look at him, and, of course, as always, my breath left my lungs at the sight of his naked body. He drew the towel under one arm and wrung it out before dipping it again to wash under the other arm. Water dripped from the hair underneath. How something so simple could be so erotic was a mystery that I would perhaps never understand.

“I have a question for you, Nico,” he said, as he watched me look him over.

“What’s that?”

“What’s happening here, between us?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, though I instantly knew what he meant: Why was I so hot and cold; why did I tell him I loved him and then run away from it; why was I such an ass. I didn’t have an answer. Or, I did, but I was loathe to discuss it now, with his body on display before me and his cock already rousing.

“You know what I mean,” he said. A surge of nervous energy set my heart racing.

“I don’t,” I responded.

“All right, I’ll be clearer then. You know that I want you. You know that I love you.” His towel drew wet lines at the back of his neck and behind his ears. “You seem to feel the same. And yet every time we take a step forward, you take three steps back.” He squeezed out the towel, dipped it again, and brought it to his cock. I sucked in a breath. How in God’s name could I have this conversation when he looked at me the way he did and looked the way he did and he touched his cock? I said nothing.

“We kissed; you barely spoke to me for days. We fucked; you didn’t touch me for weeks. You _told me you loved me_ , and then ignored me for months, and now you’re here. I have tried to be patient, Nico. I did not lie, when I said I would wait for you. But I would appreciate it if you would talk to me about whatever it is you’re feeling.” He dropped the towel in the tub and walked over to me, leaving wet footprints on the wood floor. He put his hands on my hips and drew me towards him slowly. I took in his beautiful face, those brown eyes that had looked at me with every emotion, more than any person would usually look upon any lover with: rage, frustration, love, hatred, lust. I’d seen his eyes die and he’d seen mine do the same. Now they looked serious, tinged with sadness. I didn’t deserve him.

“I’ve tried to be honest as well - this is difficult, for me,” I said. “I struggle, so much, with what _feels_ right and what _is_ right, but I don’t want to. I’m so tired of it.” I looped my arms around his neck and whispered, “Why do you keep coming back?”

“I’ve asked myself the same thing many times,” he responded, as one hand slid up my back to bring me closer to him. “I think I’ve figured it out. I keep coming back because I cannot live without you. If I were parted from you, I would die in truth.”

“You would be revived,” I whispered.

“My body would come back, yes,” he responded, “but without a heart how could I live?”

I sighed at his words and dropped my head to his. “I can not simply make this stop, Yusuf. I wish I could. I wish that I would wake one day and all of the guilt and the terror for my love would be gone. I hope you believe me. But, I think, that it will take time.”

He hummed and said, “Well, it’s good that we have so much of that.” We stood breathing in each other’s air for a few moments until he finally said, “I want you. Do you want me?” I hesitated – this was what I’d been trying to avoid, by declining his offer to stay with him initially. I never doubted that what we did and what I felt for him was right when we were together: There was no space for God when we were enmeshed. I should have a clear head for this conversation. I had hurt him, and had hurt myself too, and we needed to talk about that, but he was naked, and offering himself to me... _You are so weak_.

“Yes,” I sighed, giving in, “always. Never doubt that.”

“Then go and lay on your back on the bed.” He pulled away and I followed his order, climbing onto the ornate furniture and watching as he picked his shirt up from the ground and walked over to me. “Put your hands over your head,” he said, “and cross them at the wrist.” I did, and felt as he used the arms of his shirt to tie my hands together, and then to the bed itself. I tried to move, to see how easy it would be to escape. Lust hit me when my arms barely moved; I was powerless in this position.

“I’ve had months to think about this,” he said, cupping my cheek. “I’ve come to the conclusion that you need to be tied down so that you will _listen_ , when I tell you that I love you.”

“I do listen,” I said.

“No, you don’t. You hear, but you do not listen.” His hand slipped down and caressed my neck and collarbone, slipping under my tunic and leaving a trail of tingling pleasure wherever it went. “I’ve thought of having you at my mercy for so long, Nicolo, and now that we’re here I hardly know what to do. You always want everything, and I want to give that to you.”

“Is it so wrong, to want everything?”

“It’s not, greedy Nico. I love that you want whatever I give you.” He looked down at me with eyes that seemed practically black, now. God, I had missed this man.

“Yusuf…”

“Yes?”

“You could start by taking off my clothes.”

“An excellent place to start,” he said, as he pulled my shirt up and over my head until it was trapped in the knot at my hands. He leaned down over me and sucked hard on my right nipple, pulling a shocked moan out of my mouth.

“I never knew how good this could feel, until you did this to me,” he said. “How does it feel, Nico?”

“Good,” I whimpered. “So good.” He switched to the other one and sucked on it, gently biting down. My hips canted up involuntarily and I hissed in a breath.

“Fuck,” I hissed.

“Mmmm, yes,” he responded, looking up at me. “My dirty priest. I love it when you curse.” He moved onto the bed and lowered himself so that he was between my legs, looking up at me. He lowered his head and drew a long, wet line from the base of my cock to the tip, and my hips chased his mouth as he drew away, trying to keep contact.

“No,” he said, and he pushed my hips down. “I know how much you like that. Tonight is for me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see,” he said, and dropped his head down to lick at me again. The instant I moaned he pulled away.

“Yusuf, please,” I said.

“That’s what I want to hear,” he murmured, before dropping down my entire length and swallowing once. I groaned loudly, and he pulled away.

“You wish to torture me?” I was panting. “You want me to beg?”

“Yes,” he said simply, and smiled at me wolfishly.

“Do your worst,” I said. “I know I’ll get what I want, in the end.”

“You’re so sure, aren’t you Nicolo. But what if I played with you like this for hours? Getting you close but never letting you finish? I’ll do it, you know. Play with you the way you’ve played with me. One step forward, three steps back.”

“Yusuf, I told you, I –“

“Shhh,” he interrupted. “This is just my own little revenge. I love you, and you need to trust me.” I sighed and gritted my teeth. He laughed before leaving briefly and coming back with the dildo and some oil. He smirked at my expression. “Not yet, my love.” He poured some oil on his fingers and slipped two inside, making me cry out. It had been a long time. “I need you to listen.” He twisted his hand until he hit that spot that made my entire body clench up. “This is what you want,” he murmured. “You want me to fuck you, and to love you, and to never ask for anything in return.”

I shook my head _no_ , “No, Yusuf, that isn’t true.”

“Isn’t it? You don’t like the thrill of having so much power over me? You do, you know. I am completely in your thrall; I would do anything for you. All I ask in return is that you trust me, when I tell you I love you.” I moaned as his fingers slipped against that spot again. “And I want to trust you when you tell me you love me.”

“I do love you, Yusuf,” I moaned.

“No,” he said, “you love how I make you feel.” He took my cock in his mouth again and sucked me down. I thrust my hips up to meet him before he pulled off again. I hated that he’d pinned me so thoroughly, that he thought he’d figured out on his own what had taken me months to realize. That a small part of me worried it might be true only made things worse – or better – I could barely tell the difference anymore. The pleasure was overwhelming.

“Yusuf, please.”

“You want my cock?”

I moaned in response, my hips thrusting up for contact. He stayed just out of reach.

“Beg for it.”

“ _Fuck_ , Yusuf, please.”

“You can do better than that,” he said.

“Please, Yusuf. Please give me your cock.” I looked down at him and he smirked.

“All right.” He crawled up the bed and knelt next to my head before turning me to face his cock. “Go on then.” _Bastard,_ I thought. Anger hit me, he knew what I’d meant, but it was immediately overwhelmed by my desire to make him feel good, to make him understand that I _did_ love him, even if it was a love full of guilt and terror. I looked up at his face, which was as hard as the rest of him. “Open up,” he said. I parted my lips and he slid in against my tongue. I sucked him in as deep as I could, hollowing out my cheeks and breathing through my nose; desperate to make him feel as good as he made me. He roughly pumped into my mouth, using me for his pleasure, not mine; desire rushed through me at the thought. After a few moments he hissed and pulled himself out. “That feels too good,” he muttered. Pride washed over me.

He shifted to lie next to me and finally, _finally_ , kissed me, his tongue tangling with mine as he drew his fingers through my hair. I jerked my arms to do the same to him before realizing that I was still tied down. He smiled against my mouth. “Are you struggling, dear Nico?” He lowered his hand to my cock, gripping it tightly and giving it a few sharp tugs, like he wanted me to come. Just as I approached the edge, he let go. I moaned in frustration.

“Yusuf, please, consider me tortured,” I said, breathing heavily.

“Not yet,” he said. “Do you still want my cock?”

“Yes,” I said, “ _please.”_ He pulled back so that I could see his face in front of my own. “Tell me you trust me,” he said, “and I’ll give it to you.” He lowered his mouth to mine and spoke against my lips, “Tell me you trust me when I say that I love you, that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe, and that I will never break your heart.” He drew back to look at my face again.

 _Never?_ I thought immediately. For mortals, forever was a long time, for us it was unthinkable. He read my expression too well, because he said, “I can see that you don’t believe me.”

“No! No, Yusuf, I…I want to. But forever is a long time. It’s impossible. Only God can love forever. Everything else is temporary.” He hummed and looked into my eyes.

“Perhaps it’s the other way around,” he said. “If we never die, perhaps I’m the one that will love you forever, and God will be temporary.”

“You speak blasphemy,” I gasped. This was far even for him.

“Maybe,” he murmured, before lowering his mouth to mine and kissing me softly. “Or, maybe our love is how God shows you that he loves you. Two men met on a battlefield and killed each other, and God sent them back together. Destiny.” He kissed me again and I parted my lips under his, falling under the spell of his words. I wanted to believe him so badly.

“You paint a beautiful picture,” I sighed.

“I am an artist,” he responded.

We kissed for a few unhurried moments until he pulled away and said, “We should continue this conversation at a later time. There are too many things I still want to do to you.”

I laughed shakily as his hand trailed down to my cock. At his touch I gasped – I’d been so distracted by how words that I’d forgotten how aroused I was, but it came roaring back when his fingers wrapped around me.

“But,” he sighed dramatically, “you still don’t trust me, so you won’t get my cock.”

“Yusuf! This is extortion.”

“No it’s not,” he said through a lazy kind of smile. “This is seduction.” He pulled away and grabbed the dildo and oil, pouring some onto the tool and his fingers. He slid two inside of me again and I arched my back, letting the pleasure take me, trying to get him to touch that spot. He eyed the dildo. “Did you consider using this, while I was out?”

“No,” I lied.

“I don’t believe you,” he said. “You didn’t consider how it might feel? Didn’t consider sliding it in to open yourself up for me? If you had, I would have been able to bend you over and to slide straight in, to get as deep inside of you as possible.” I moaned at the image and he slid a third finger in. “I wonder how far that is,” he said, and looked down at his cock, which looked painfully hard. He laid his other hand on my abdomen, just a bit below the slight curve of my belly, under the curve of my cock, measuring where his own cock would end, if it were inside of me. “About there,” he said. I looked down and closed my eyes against the crushing pleasure that grabbed hold of me at the thought of his cock inside of me, to _about there_ , a part of me in truth.

“Fuck, Yusuf, please, _please_.”

“Please what, my beloved?”

“Please let me come.” I was shivering, so aroused I felt I could finish then if I thought about it for a moment, but I didn’t want to come without him telling me to.

“Not yet,” he said. He slid his fingers out and grabbed the dildo. I felt the cool head of it between my legs.

“ _Please_ ,” I begged. He pressed his other hand against my mouth to silence my moan as he slid it in slowly. I felt the false head slide inside and closed my eyes, clenching down on the intrusion.

“How does it feel?” He kept pushing it forward slowly and pulled his hand away so I could speak.

“Good,” I panted, “but nothing like you.” He smiled.

“I like that answer,” he said. “Of course you’re right. Nothing makes you feel as good as I do.” I nodded helplessly. It was true. _Nothing_ felt as good as him. He began to pump the dildo in and out, hitting that spot inside of me with ruthless precision.

“Oh, fuck, Yusuf, please. Please, I’m so close.”

“Imagine it’s me,” he whispered. “Imagine I’m inside of you now, how much better you would feel. It’s divine, when we’re together. Proof that God loves us.” He moved the dildo faster as my breathing sped up. He hovered his other hand over my cock and I strained up to meet it. I was so fucking close, waves of pleasure rippling through me; I knew that if he would just _touch my cock_ , I would be there. He dropped his hand and stroked me in short quick jerks and my back arched as a moan ripped out of me. “I love you,” he said, “now, come.” The pleasure split through me, ruthless, clawing through me until it emerged from my throat as a silent groan. Through it all, I felt Yusuf’s eyes on me, and I knew he noted every seizing muscle and throbbing vein with his artist’s eye.

My soul came floating back down into the room and merged again with my body. I was vaguely conscious of tears on my face, but had no recollection of crying.

“I wish you could see what you look like, when you come,” Yusuf said. He was lying next to me, his hand against my throat.

“I don’t believe I want to,” I responded, still panting. I had _cried_ without realizing it, for God’s sake, I didn’t need any further proof of whatever happened to me when I left my body.

“You do. You're so beautiful." He leaned over me and untied my hands. I brought them down and gingerly felt at the wrists, inspecting them for bruises before remembering that it didn’t matter. I still felt delicate and insubstantial, as if I floated somewhere outside of my body. I looked over at Yusuf next to me and he smiled at my expression.

“You look as if you’re in a dream,” he said.

“I feel as if I’m in a dream,” I responded, and rolled over on my side to face him. His leaking cock brushed against my hip. I brought my hand up to lie against the pillow next to his head and he shifted so that his cheek lay against my palm. I looked into those brown eyes and saw all of the love he had for me shining through - it was blinding, but I kept my eyes open as my other hand drifted down to his cock. He hissed in a breath. I looped my fingers around him and dragged the skin up and down lazily, with no real urgency at all. A line appeared between his eyebrows and his mouth opened slightly, but his eyes did not close. We stared at each other, eyes roaming over the planes of each of our faces. It felt unbearably intimate, to touch him like this with his eyes open, but necessary.

“I trust you, Yusuf.” He gasped a little. “I love you.” His hips began to move, fucking into my hand. “You don’t believe me now, but you will soon. No more steps back. I’m trying. I want to try for you.” His eyes searched mine and I let him see everything. He groaned long and loud and spilled into my hand. I kissed him and felt his trembling breaths against my lips. “I love you,” I repeated. He closed his eyes and put his forehead to mine.

“I want to believe you, Nico,” he said, “but we’ll see how you feel tomorrow.”

I sighed and closed my eyes, pulling him onto my chest. I supposed it would have to do for now. One step forward.


	30. Chapter 30

**Yusuf**

I awoke in the night with Nicolo’s back pressed against me, my arms curled around his, and thought _how quickly we fall back into old habits._ I hadn’t held him like this in so long, and mere hours after entering the room it felt as if we were back in the tent after Malik and Akil’s death, before he’d told me he loved me, when it had felt as if the the whole of a loving and joyful eternity stretched out before us.

I sighed, remembering his protestations of love the night before. ‘No more steps back’, he’d said. I wanted to believe him. I breathed in his scent and listened to his even breathing and drifted back to sleep.

* * *

_A woman’s terrified face hovered above mine, mouthing something I could not understand. The stars glittered behind her and the dark mountains stretched above her. My hand clutched reflexively at my ax; I wished I could keep fighting. “It’ll be all right,” I tried to say, but could not speak through the arrow in my neck. She looked up and quickly shot an arrow at someone approaching us on horseback. I heard them thud to the ground. “Andromache,” she said. “Come back to me.” I will, I tried to say. How many times have I died? I thought. And it never stops fucking hurting._

* * *

Nico and I jerked awake at the same time; I gasped for breath around the arrow I still felt in my neck. Nico lurched to sitting and grasped for me, his hand landing on my shoulder.

“I apologize,” he said, surprising me – hadn’t I woken him? “I had the most horrible dream.” He wiped his hand over his mouth and chuckled darkly. “I haven’t had a dream like that since I found you. I had hoped they were finished.”

I sat up and rubbed my hands on his back, trying to offer up some comfort.

“Tell me," I said.

"I dreamt I died," he responded, sighing. "In battle." _Odd_ , I thought.

"I had a similar dream, actually.”

“Did you?” he turned back to look at me.

“Yes. I was a woman though. An arrow went through my neck. There was another woman crying over me.”

In the contained dark of our curtained bed it was hard to see, but I could tell Nico’s eyes widened as he listened. “Yusuf…that’s precisely what I dreamt of.” We stared at each other. "What was her name?"

“Andromache," I said, and he nodded in confirmation. Several things happened in my body at once: Part of my mind raced, another part was frozen still. My pulse spiked and I felt the roar of blood in my ears. This couldn’t be possible.

“In the dream, there was an axe...”

“Round, two concentric circles. Razor sharp and cut in half so it's double-headed.”

Nico turned to face me. “My God,” he muttered, “do we share dreams now, too?”

“Have you dreamt of her before?” I asked.

“I…yes. Yes I have. Maybe five or six times since we met. Her and the other woman.”

“Quynh,” I supplied. He nodded. “I’ve dreamt of them too,” I continued. “Nico… do you think they’re real? Andromache and Quynh? If we both dream of them…”

He nodded again. “Yes. I do. And they’re like us.” We looked at each other in wonder. “They can’t die.”

My lungs felt too tight - I needed air, quickly. I wrenched open the curtains to our bed and went to light a candle. I felt Nico staring at me and I fumbled slightly with the flint; my hands were shaking. My pulse still hadn’t settled to normal, my heart beat too fast. I turned back to him after I lit two candles.

His eyes flew up to mine; I realized he’d been staring at my ass. Despite the panicky state of my body I laughed. “You ogle me at such a time?” He smiled fully and I felt my pulse begin to settle. It would be all right, whatever happened, as long as he kept smiling at me like that.

“I am not blind,” he said. “If I can see you, I am ogling you.” I huffed out a laugh and preened slightly under his gaze. “Do you think they dream of us?” he asked, switching back to the topic at hand. I tried not to be too disappointed.

I walked back to the bed and climbed in as he laid back. We faced each other, supine, mirror images – my head propped up on my left hand; his propped up on his right.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Perhaps.”

“I think they must,” he said contemplatively, “if we both dream of them.” He paused briefly and asked, "I wonder if we could find each other? How I was able to I find you." I hummed noncommittally in response, distracted by the thought that Nico was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I watched as a line drew between his eyes. I’d always thought them to be blue, but there was a hint of green there too, and I hoped I’d never really know what the color was, that it would always be a mystery.

“Have you dreamt of me?” he asked.

“Of course I have,” I responded with a smirk. I watched as a blush grew up his neck to his face and smiled at his reaction. So easy to fluster.

“No, I mean, have you ever dreamt of me like we dream of them?”

“I know what you mean.” I hesitated, unsure enough about his feelings that I wasn’t sure if I should tell him the truth. I’d never told him that I’d dreamt of him before we’d met.

“Yes,” I finally said, “I believe that I have.” I rolled over on my back and felt his eyes on me. “Before we met.”

“Before Jerusalem?”

I nodded. “Yes. Two nights before the battle, I dreamt of a man with blue eyes. I remember that he – you – looked at me and I knew…” I sighed. In light of our recent relationship this was hard to discuss. “I knew that he – you – loved me. When I saw you on the battlefield, I recognized your eyes.” I looked over at Nico, who stared at me with those same eyes.

“I felt that, before I stabbed you. That you knew me somehow.”

“Yes,” I said. “It was a disappointment to have such a dream and recognize the person from that dream, only to have them murder me.”

Nico smiled. “I am sorry about that,” he said.

“You’re not. Anyways, if memory serves, I struck you first.” He narrowed his eyes at me and hummed.

“I could do it again, you know,” he said darkly.

I laughed at his empty threat. “You wouldn’t. Not anymore.”

He rolled over and laid his head against my chest. “I suppose I wouldn’t,” he mumbled against my skin. I drew my hand through his hair, feeling the fine strands slide through my fingers, slippery and cool, so different from my own. He sighed. “That feels wonderful,” he said.

“Good,” I responded. We lay there for a few moments, and I contemplated telling him about my other dreams. _No more steps back_ , he’d said.

“I had dreams about you after we separated, too. They felt so real, like we shared them – and I hoped that was the case – but I never knew.” I felt his breath blowing gently across my nipple and shivered slightly. “There was one…” _Incubus_ , floated gently into my head, and my body tightened up involuntarily at the word, like a dog trained to sit. One of his hands began to sweep across my chest, the slow back and forth arousing me further.

“Yes?” he prompted.

“There was one that has always stayed with me. I dreamt of you in your bed, touching yourself. You…you called me an incubus.” His hand stilled its slow perusal of my chest.

“You cried,” he whispered, “and I kissed the tears from your mouth.” He pulled back to look at me. “I know that dream.” Our eyes searched each other’s, his uncategorized eyes boring into my brown ones. “Perhaps it is destiny.”

I said nothing in response; I simply let him stare at me.

“Yusuf,” he said finally, “If we dream of the women when they die, and they perhaps dream of us when we do…” he paused and looked away for a moment, “I believe I’ve dreamt your deaths too.”

Again, I said nothing.

“Your family… you never speak of them. When we left each other, you said you would go home to them. What happened?”

“If you’ve dreamt my deaths, you know,” I responded. He nodded.

“If you don’t wish to speak of it, you do not need to,” he said, and laid his head back down on my chest, drawing his arms around me. He held me tightly and tangled his legs with mine. _He’s trying to comfort you_ , I thought, _because he knows._ I knew I’d have to tell him someday. An event such as this couldn’t stay buried forever.

“I went home, to Aleppo, after we separated, as I said I would. My mother and brothers were there – my father had died years before that. I was happy, for a few years.” I thought back to those five or so years in that dusty city with my family. My mother’s thick black hair, her laughing eyes, the dogs always under her feet. “My mother wanted me to marry and my brothers teased me for wanting to stay unattached. I don’t believe they had any inclination of my own inclinations.” I sighed. “Then I met Hammad.”

Nico’s arms tightened around me and I tried to draw strength from his grasp. “He was very handsome. A little shorter than me; more serious. Like you, I suppose.” I felt his smile against my skin. “We started fucking.”

“Did you fall in love?” Nico asked. It was my turn to smile.

“No,” I responded. “Hammad was a good man, but I didn’t love him. I was half in love with you, even then.” His eyes tightened around me again. “My brother, Farouk – he was my favorite – he found us. We’d become careless – Hammad was in my room and…there was no way to hide what we’d been doing. I don’t entirely know what happened, but that night I was attacked and I wasn't able to escape. They tied me up and threw stones at me…” I drew in a shaky breath, my chest was tight and I felt the panicky tension of contained sobs. I’d never told anyone what happened. “My mother found us and she threw herself in front of the crowd, she pled for my life…it was foolish of her, she knew I couldn’t die but I suppose she didn’t want me to suffer. She was hit in the head with a rock and she…she died.”

“Oh, Yusuf,” whispered Nico against my skin. “I am so sorry.” I reached up to wipe furiously at the tears that collected in my eyes.

“Anyways, they killed me. I woke up in a grave. I left and never went back.” I heaved in a breath and willed myself not to cry. This was too much – we’d barely begun to work our way back to the easy camaraderie of before – I would scare him away, and I couldn’t take that ever again.

He leaned up on his elbow and drew his hand over my face, his fingers tracing over my eyebrows, down my nose, and through my beard. I closed my eyes and breathed through his touch; peace began to descend upon me. He laid his forehead against mine.

“Can you hear what I’m thinking?” he asked softly.

“No,” I responded.

“I’m thinking about your mother, and how much she must have loved you, to sacrifice herself to try and save you from suffering.” I squeezed my eyes shut against the wave of despair that stuck me at his words. “And I am so _grateful_ that someone loved you that much, because you deserve love like that.” _Why can’t it be you?_ I thought. _Why can’t that kind of love come from_ you? He kissed me and I sobbed once, finally, against his lips. I opened my mouth, deepening the kiss, desperate to feel something besides despair – my mother, brothers, Nico. _Love me_ , I thought.

My simmering arousal dropped low, making me hungry for another taste of him, thirsting for his surrender, of forcing another reminder upon him of how good I could make him feel. _Love me,_ I thought again. I bit his lip and pushed him onto his back and he went willingly. I shifted between his legs and stroked my palms over his shoulders, down his chest and to his hips. I heard him suck in a strained breath and smiled: I’d barely even started. I slipped him into my mouth and felt a tremor run through him, powerlessness clenching his muscles tight. I took him deeper and heard a harsh gasp.

“Yusuf.” I pulled away from him, a thin line of spit connecting us still.

“Yes, my love?”

“Nothing,” he said, sliding his hands into my hair and gently pressing me back down. “Keep going.”

“As you wish,” I said, and applied myself back to my task. Nico became my whole world, the way he smelled and tasted, the pulse of his cock in my mouth and hands, his pained breathing. With my mouth on his cock I said to him, _I love you. I love this. Noone will ever make you feel the way I do._

I loved him so much and it terrified me. To have him like this, to feel the way I did about him, to have him so close – in my _mouth_ – and to think I might lose him again, or lose him completely, in the end. He said he’d loved me last night but my heart had fallen for that before, the walls would not be so easily scaled again. It was too much, so I emptied my mind and focused only on what I did here, now. Making him feel so good that I wouldn’t – couldn’t – lose him, in the end.

His fingers convulsed against my head and I heard him moan above me. “It always feels so good,” he sighed. “Everything you do to me feels divine.” He laughed slightly, “I always think of that word, when you touch me: divine. It is. It always is.” I took him in as far as I could and his muscles tensed below me before I pulled off of him. “Don’t stop,” he gasped and looked down at me. I sucked on two of my fingers and raised an eyebrow at him. He dropped his head back down and groaned. I slid a finger into him and his hands flew back into my hair. I added another finger and his hands jerked against my head. Those hands; hands that had killed me, that had killed for me, that had brought me so much pleasure. I thrust my cock against the bed, needing some pressure, some outlet for the way he made me feel.

“Tell me how it feels,” I said, desperate for him to keep acknowledging what was between us.

“Wonderful,” he said. “Fucking divine.”

I pulled away and jerked him, my fingers hitting the spot inside of him that made him feel so much. “Keep going,” I said. “Say my name.”

“Yusuf,” he moaned, as I dropped my mouth back down onto his cock. “You like to suck my cock, don’t you?” I nodded jerkily against him – it was true. I loved him helpless; at my mercy: making him feel the way he made me feel all the time. “If I come, will you swallow what I give you?” I moaned around him. “You will. You’ll take whatever I give you, just like I take whatever you’ll give me.” I kept rutting against the bed – if he kept talking like this I’d be able to come without placing a hand on myself. “I’m so close. Yusuf. You are an incubus, like I said. I used to lie in bed and imagine this act so often when I was at home. I would imagine your mouth tight around me, as it is now –“ his pained moan cut off the rest of his words and I felt him tense around my fingers; his fingers pulling at my hair so hard it hurt. He was there, his cock, slick with my spit and his come, pushed into my mouth and his warm release basted my throat. I groaned around him and came against the bed as I swallowed him down.

I pulled away from him and gasped for breath. He was looking down at me with something like wonder. “Come here,” he said. I crawled up to him on unsteady arms and collapsed against his chest.

“I love you,” he said.

“After that, I know you do.” I smirked as he sighed.

“No. Not just for that,” he said. He drew his fingers through my curls. “You’ll believe me, again, one day.”

I hoped so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone's safe and staying sane in the continued insanity of 2020/the world as it is now. You know what makes me feel better? Comments and kudos. (I am an asshole.)
> 
> BTW, chapter count is probably going to go up a teensy bit, mainly because practically the only thing keeping me sane - besides my husband and my dogs - is writing this literal novel and I don't want to stop. Hopefully that makes some of y'all happy too.


	31. Chapter 31

**Nicolo**

It was a muggy night, the night we joined Amir and Fatima for dinner. Some unknown insects sang their evening song around us, reaching their crescendo just as Yusuf rang the bell for admittance. They lived on a busy street; behind us people hurried to and fro. Though the sun had gone down we could see perfectly well – lanterns had been lit up and down the road. I looked over at Yusuf and smirked when I noticed the perspiration on his cheeks and forehead. He caught my look.

“What?” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh, nothing,” I responded.

“What was that look?”

“What look, Yusuf?”

“Nicolo, you had a _look_ , and you know it. Tell me.”

I laughed. “Fine! Fine. Your face is a bit...damp.”

He scowled. “It’s this damn kufi, and my beard is getting too long-“

“It’s neither of those things and you know it,” I interrupted through a smile, greatly enjoying myself. “You are a delicate creature when it comes to temperature, my love. Always either dying of heat or of cold.”

His face went from serious to light in the space of a moment and he laughed sharply, once, before nodding in begrudging agreement.

“Perhaps. But, I would never call myself ‘delicate’.”

“Sensitive, then?” I amended.

He grinned at me, the fine lines next to his eyes collecting in a charming sort of way. “All right. Sensitive.”

I smiled back at him and thought _I’ve missed this_. Our time on the road had allowed us the space to acknowledge our feelings for one another but had stifled our playful conversations and I had _missed_ it. I hadn’t even realized how much, until it was a part of my life once again. In our little rented rooms over the past days I’d laughed more than I had in months; I felt freer than I had…perhaps ever. I’d come to learn that in Yusuf’s arms it was possible for me to breathe so deeply that I could feel dizzy with it.

On a whim I grabbed his hand with my own and our fingers interlaced for a quiet moment. His blunt nails drew along the sensitive skin on my palm and I shivered slightly, aroused. He cocked an eyebrow at me as if to say, _just that?_ and I thought back, _yes, just from that._ When the door opened our hands dropped away, taking all of the shuddery anticipation with it. Rashika beamed up at us from the partially opened door. Back to reality.

* * *

“He’s a man of science, the person I want you to follow,” said Amir, taking a sip of tea. We were in their sparsely decorated wood-paneled dining room. The girls had just been dismissed to bed, despite much pleading to stay with us. Their cries had fallen on deaf ears, and now it was just myself, Yusuf, Fatima and Amir.

“So that’s what it’s to be,” said Yusuf as he deliberately set down his chopsticks, “spying.”

“I’d prefer to call it ‘intelligence gathering,’” he responded.

“By following someone around and watching everything they do.” He looked at Amir pointedly. Amir sighed.

“This sounds like spying to me,” I said, and popped another piece of chicken in my mouth. I’d become much more proficient with chopsticks over the past weeks – they were no longer my mortal enemy, though noodles were still a struggle.

“Well, you can call it whatever you’d like, but your job will be to _gather intelligence_ on this particular man as it relates to his work on something called gunpowder.”

“Gunpowder?” I asked. He hummed in the affirmative.

“We’ve known about it for years. It seems like it was created by accident, initially; essentially it makes things explode. The fireworks they have here, they work off of the same principle.” I nodded – I hadn’t seen fireworks yet but had heard they were amazing.

“The powder consists of saltpeter, honey, garlic and sulfur, amongst a few other things. It’s actually quite fascinating. We-“

“Who’s ‘we’?” interjected Yusuf.

“The people paying for you to gather this information,” Amir quickly responded firmly, putting an end to his questioning. “ _We_ ,” he continued, “have heard rumours of its application to new techniques, namely, bombs and something called a gun. Hence, gunpowder.”

“And a gun is...” I trailed off.

“It’s a –“ he paused and seemed to think though how to explain it. “It’s a machine for war. We think. That’s where you come in.”

“You know, we don’t really blend in,” said Yusuf. “Surely they’ll notice a white man and a Muslim following them around.”

“Not if you’re good at your job,” responded Amir. “Plus I have other people working on this – not just you. I have every confidence in our success.”

Yusuf looked to me for approval and I shrugged as if to say, _what else would we be doing?_

“All right,” he said to Amir. “We’ll do it. What’s his name?”

* * *

Huang Tingjian was his name. I eyed him from where I was perusing fruit at a stall just as he exited his home. He was older than us – _no, not older, will that ever register_ – perhaps fifty years of age. He had a short pointed beard and the long robes of a court official; the sleeves reached practically to the ground. He hurried past me as I set down my lychee and looked over to Yusuf, who stood casually against the wall of a shop. He nodded slightly in acknowledgment and we followed Huang on his errand, staying well back; his bright red robes making him easy to see.

Though Yusuf and I had both been concerned our differences would draw too much attention, the truth was that Kaifeng barely noticed us. It was massive – larger even than Baghdad, and the people here seemed to mingle far more freely, so two men who looked as we did hardly merited a second glance. We moved silently behind him, pushing through groups of people with muttered apologies until he finally arrived at his apparent destination. He took a set of keys from his voluminous robes, opened the door, entered, and shut it behind him. We heard no sounds inside – no voices or movements at all. We waited.

Hours later, he emerged, and walked back to his home. He did not stop to purchase anything or converse with anyone. We had nothing to report.

“Tomorrow,” I said to Yusuf as we watched the door to his home close behind him. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

* * *

After five days following Huang, we still hadn’t seen a single aberration to his routine: Every morning he left his home, took the same path to where he presumably worked all day, and then went back home. I tried to convince Yusuf that no information was still information – we could infer, for example, that he stuck to a habitual life, and not everyone does that - but we quickly became frustrated with our lack of progress.

* * *

I immediately thought of this frustration when, one night, Yusuf threw his bag on the bed next to me and began rummaging around, huffing and muttering to himself as he pulled items out and discarded them when they weren’t what he sought. I lowered the poem that hovered over my face to stare at him over the paper.

“What is bothering you, my love?” I finally asked.

“I’m shaving my beard,” he said grimly. I lowered my paper at that and stared at him some more.

“All right,” I said carefully. “If that’s something you feel you should do. I thought perhaps that it was something you had to keep.”

“It isn’t written anywhere that we _must_ keep it. Besides, so many of the things I do now – drink, eat pork, fuck men, live forever – are forbidden. This seems a small thing in comparison. It’s hot, and I’m tired of it.” He grinned at me, some of the mania fading away. “Don’t you want to see what I look like, under this? I know I do – I’ve had a beard the whole of my adult life.”

“What if you have a terrible jawline?” I asked.

“I don’t,” he said confidently.

“But what if you do?”

At that he leaned over me and gave me a deep kiss with a bite on my lower lip at the end. “Hush,” he said, “or I shall punish you.” Arousal fizzled in me.

“That’s a terrible threat,” I said. “It’ll only make me bedevil you more.” He hummed and kissed me again.

“Maybe that’s what I want,” he said through a smile, before pulling away and resuming his perusal of his bag. I watched the muscles move under his strong hands and the heavy lines drawn between his eyes and sent a prayer up to God, thanking Him for bringing Yusuf into my life.

“I’ll get water, then,” I said, and went about my task.

* * *

“This is why you kissed me, that day in the field, isn’t it?” I asked him this as he drew the blade down his neck after it had scraped the underside of his jaw. He was nude from the waist up, and I’d been half hard for minutes - it was so intimate watching him shave, and something about the blade against his neck…

He cocked an eyebrow at me from where he sat. “Is this doing something for you Nicolo?”

“Perhaps,” I said.

“Interesting,” he responded, before drawing the blade down again. The left side of his face now had just heavy stubble and it was _doing something for me,_ as Yusuf had so opaquely put it. Desire settled low in my belly and I felt my cock stiffen further; my throat felt tight and I swallowed past a lump. I fought the urge to touch myself.

“It wasn’t your shaving that made me kiss you, though watching you do that certainly was intriguing.” He drew the blade from his right ear to the corner of his lips, revealing more skin. “It was what you said.” I watched him, entranced, as he scraped the grease off onto the strop and put the blade back on his face to shave the hair above his lip.

“What was that?” I finally asked.

“You said it ‘reminded you of Jerusalem.’” I had, hadn’t I? I remembered that day so well, could recall the drugging heaviness that had descended upon me when we’d kneeled chest to chest in the yellow fields, but I had forgotten I had said that – my body had been in full control at that point.

Yusuf watched me still. The only hair left was in the middle of his neck and beneath his lips.

“I spoke the truth. Looking up at you, from that angle…. It was arousing, somehow.”

“Yes.”

“That seems…wrong.”

Yusuf shrugged, apparently unconcerned with right and wrong, and shaved the last of his beard from beneath his lips.

“Sex and death seem like common bedfellows,” he said. “It’s power, isn’t it? That night in Jerusalem I wished to win, and I did. I remember wanting you to know that it was me who’d done it to you. I’ve had remarkably similar thoughts when making you come.”

I blushed, of course. He splashed water on his face and rubbed all over with a towel. He looked over at me, one eyebrow set slightly higher than the other in the charming way he had and smiling slightly, showing a hint of white teeth.

“Now, come, tell me. How do I look?”

I considered his face. He hadn’t shaved himself especially well – there was still a dark shadow where his beard had been – but he looked... _delicious_. The word surprised me somewhat as it entered my mind, but it was accurate: I found that I wanted to eat him. The glorious thing of it was that I knew I had permission to do so. Permission for whatever I might want. I stood and walked over to where he sat, on one of our two wooden chairs. He watched me, his already dark eyes becoming darker still. I stood over him and he looked up at me as I drew one hand through his hair before tightening my fingers into a fist, pulling his head back further. With his neck arched like that and no beard, I could see his pulse jump beneath the skin. _Like Jerusalem,_ I thought. Perhaps there was something to his theory.

“Power, you said?”

He tried to nod but he was held fast by my grip.

“Yes.” His breath came shorter; soon enough he’d be panting. Some part of me still able to note such things was pleased that I knew his body well enough by now to know that.

“You’ve said before that I have all the power,” I muttered, “that you’re in my _thrall._ I love that word by the way. Does that make you my slave?” The simple act of voicing the question caused my arousal to spike. I watched his eyes jump to my lips and then back up.

“Yes,” he said, shuddering and blowing out a shaky breath. “You know I am, Nicolo.”

“I could do whatever I wished to?”

He huffed out a laugh, but there was no amusement in it. “You know the answer to that too, my love.”

 _Use me_. His words from so many months ago whispered in my head, the tones begging me from that morning after the first time we’d fucked. I suddenly remembered his words from the night we’d frantically – drunkenly – made each other come against the cart, that freezing night in the middle of nowhere. He’d said he wanted me inside of him again, that he would – what was it? – do whatever I said. That he’d beg for my cock. _Those_ were the words he’d used to arouse me, so presumably they aroused him. Every time we’d been together recently though, it was him fucking me, but then, he had accused me of being greedy. Greedy because I had something he wanted? I felt as if a film was lifted from my eyes: _He wants you to fuck him, Nico._ _He wants you to be in charge._

I pulled his hair again, testing out my new theory, and watched his eyes close and a sound – “oh” – quietly come from his mouth.

“You are quite under my power now, aren’t you?”

“Always,” he said. He opened his eyes and caught mine, and I saw multitudes in his expression, but above all: lust, dazzling and strong. I’m sure my own reflected back at him. _Well, then_ , I thought, _let’s see where this takes us._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to be (very quickly - like, tomorrow or Saturday) continued...


	32. Chapter 32

**Yusuf**

The dark look in Nicolo’s eyes and his hand gripping my hair pulled me down into the secret pool of my desires, where I’d hidden away my wish for him to control what we did – to act upon the power he had over me. As I sank into it I heard an indistinguishable buzzing in my mind – excitement, arousal, and fear blurring together.

“Close your eyes,” he said. I did. I felt his lips hovering just above mine.

“If you could have exactly what you wanted, right now, what would that look like?” _Fuck me like I’m the only thing you’ll ever love,_ I thought unbidden. _You tell me you love me – show me._ I was glad my eyes were closed; my face felt like it was on fire. I felt his fingers draw up my forearm, and it set my body tingling, crackling with arousal. His blunt fingernails trailed back down, from my elbow to my wrist, and I groaned, shocked – though I suppose I should not have been – by my reaction. I was at his mercy this time, and I _wanted that_ , but a sliver of worry worked its way into my thoughts – would he think less of me? I’d always been domineering in bed, even when I'd submitted to him, and he seemed to enjoy that. I found myself unable to voice a single one of these thoughts, to answer his question.

“Get on the bed,” he said into my silence. I opened my eyes and caught his ever-changing eyes staring back at mine. “Go. And take off the rest of your clothes.”

I obeyed, coquettishly bending over completely as I slid my trousers off in the middle of the room. I looked at him over my shoulder when I stood: He was absently rubbing himself through his clothes and staring at me. When he noticed me noticing him he told me to shut my eyes again. I obeyed, and blindly walked over to the bed. His orders were lighting me up as surely as his touch had.

I laid down, listened to him moving about the room as my imagination ran wild. It occurred to me that I felt as Nico must usually feel – greedy, wanting everything, and having to wait for it. Perhaps I had more power in my usual position than I’d given myself credit for, because right now, in this waiting, desire felt so sharp in me that it hurt.

I heard an odd sound I couldn’t place and sat up on my elbow to find its source. Nico stood looking at me pensively, with a piece of rope in his hands.

“I told you to shut your eyes, did I not?” he asked, toying with the rope’s frayed end. His voice was quiet and cool, and the rope wound around his hands. All of the blood in my head surged downwards – my cock was suddenly pounding, insistent and ready. I bit my lip at the rush and couldn’t have hid my reaction if I’d tried. I didn’t, though, and I felt his eyes caress my hard cock.

“Shut your eyes, and keep them closed,” he said calmly, with an aura of menace I’d hardly ever seen from my gentle lover. I obeyed and dropped my head back to the bed. I heard fabric ripping and his footfalls approaching the bed. The straw filled mattress sagged at my hip as he sat on it.

“Raise your head,” he said. I did. Fabric went over my eyes and Nico tied the ends tight.

“I’d wish to see you,” I said.

“I apologize, my love, but you will not be able to do that,” he said. “You must do as I say, and you haven’t been able to do that so far.”

His caresses resumed on my arms. Without my sight it truly shocked me; I quickly saw the benefits of the blindfold.

“What is it that you want?” he asked again, his fingernails still tracing lines of pleasure up and down the skin of my arm. I didn’t want him to ask. “Tell me, Yusuf.” Silence stretched taut between us until I broke.

“Do what you will,” I said, finally.

“So I should touch you?” he asked. I swallowed, considering how far I should go in exposing my wants; I’d always been honest with Nicolo, in my desires, my love, everything. “Where should I touch you?” he continued.

“I don’t care where you touch me. I just want to feel like it’s… for you.”

“How do you mean?”

“I… want you to use me. I don’t care how, or what you do, but I want to feel like it’s in service to you. For your pleasure. That’s all I want.”

His caresses paused and I felt his lips brush across mine. “Even in this, you are unselfish,” he muttered.

“Not unselfish,” I countered. “It’s selfish to want to bring you pleasure.”

“The most unselfish selfishness I’ve ever encountered,” he said. I thought of him, of how long I’d longed for him, _decades_ of longing…how could I do anything other than worship him once I had him?

“You wish to be in service to me...” he said, trailing off in contemplation. He leaned forward and laid a kiss on my forehead. “Stay there,” he commanded. I felt him leave the bed and heard him moving about the room. Finally his comforting weight straddled my hips and he coaxed my wrists together above my head. I felt the rope wind around them, the scratchy material rousing me even further. “This was particularly arousing for me,” he whispered. “When you tied me up, it made me feel exactly as you described, like I was being used for your pleasure. Like I existed for nothing else.” My cock, trapped at it was by his body between my thigh and hip, pounded. The restriction made me feel light headed, and I heard my breath, desperate and nearly gasping. He wound the rope tighter around my wrists and my cock felt harder and bigger with every loop. I was again shocked by my reaction; my body felt tight with need, like I might burst. We’d barely touched. I felt Nico tie off the rope between the ornate woodwork of the bed.

“You look…” he paused, and I desperately wished I could see his expression. “I thought earlier that you look delicious. You’re beautiful with your beard, but without it you look _hard_. Like the warrior you are. And having you tied up thus, your muscles straining…” I heard him breathe out shakily. “You look like everything I ever dreamed of.”

“I was there for some of those dreams,” I said softly.

“You were,” he agreed. “Perhaps you are all I _ever_ dreamed of, in fact.” He drew his hands slowly up from above my cock, over my chest and up to my throat. Both hands bracketed my neck and he pressed his thumbs in slightly so that my airflow was slightly impeded. I choked lightly and I felt and heard him shudder above me.

“That sounds so good. Why?” He released my throat enough so that I could breathe and speak again.

“I can’t say,” I sighed. “But I don’t recommend you worry about it. Do it, if it makes you feel good.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured.

“You won’t. Remember what we are, Nico.”

“It still hurts,” he said.

“This doesn’t.” I raised my head and felt his thumbs press in slightly against my throat. A soft sigh escaped him.

“Sex and death…” he murmured.

“Yes. And we get to experience both, and come back from both, together. A bit of choking seems small in comparison. If you want to do this, I want to too.”

“I can do whatever I wish to you,” he murmured above me. “That was true.” I nodded.

“I am always truthful with you, my love,” I said. _I’ll take whatever you deign to give me_ , I thought, w _hatever you’ll give me._ My back arched involuntarily. One of his cool hands stayed pressed against my neck and the other settled on my cock. I jumped, my arms shaking. There was pressure, then friction, as his palm moved up and down my length.

“When we first met, I recognized you,” he murmured. “Not the way you did, exactly, but as if… as if my heart knew yours.” His hand kept up a steady pace on my cock – my heart pounded with it in time. “ _Destiny_ , Yusuf. Isn’t that what you said? I recognized you. And even then, you wanted this, didn’t you? If I had done this, then…”

“I would have chopped off your hand,” I said. Nico laughed and applied some pressure to my airway as if to chastise me – the thought sent me spiraling.

“I thought you were always truthful with me? You’re thinking about it now and you’re so hard…”

“I…” I fought against my arousal; the thought heating my blood far more than I would’ve considered possible, thinking back to the day we met. What if he’d stuck his bloody cock into me as I lay on my belly, there amongst the dead on the battlefield? I would have fought. I would have screamed; I would have moaned. I would have held him to me, I wouldn’t have let him go. I’d begun shaking while his hand still drew slowly up and down.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“About the battlefield,” I whispered, somewhat ashamed at my arousal. So many men died that day. Men I had cared about. Men he had cared about.

“Mmmm. You would have let me have whatever I wanted, even then,” he scolded, “but I have you now, and you’re so… so helpless for me, aren’t you?” His fingertips slid down into the sensitive area between my balls and ass, pressing down until I groaned. This was exactly what I’d wanted, and more. I wanted to push it further; to truly indulge this desire while I had it: I wanted him to punish me for how much I wanted him. 

“Don’t let me come,” I whispered.

Nico paused his ministrations and I wondered if I’d pushed it too far, somehow.

“If you do, you’ve failed me, is that right?” he asked.

I nodded helplessly, as he’d said, praying he wouldn’t think less of me for my pleading. He resumed his ministrations.

“I’ll never forget my first dream of you. I saw you bathing in a river. Your hair was wet and you stroked your cock. I’d never seen another man doing that. I hid behind a tree and watched you. Did you know that?” His palm grazed my cock, up and down, over the head, until he clasped me completely in his warm fist. I shuddered to think of him seeing me, then, in a dream, shared or not. Stalking me. I nodded ‘no’. “I remember wishing that I had more eyes, so that I could see everything at the same time – your face, you cock, your muscles clenching. You made yourself come and then you laughed –I remember that so well. I woke up that first time and barely touched myself before I came.”

I felt the scratchy rope against my hands, and his hand on my cock and my neck, and thought again of him fucking me into the mud outside of Jerusalem and watching me from behind a tree and I gasped, my back bowing.

“Are you close to coming?” he asked.

“Yes,” I moaned.

“Don’t come, Yusuf.”

“ _Oh.”_

_“_ If you come, I’ll punish you. I won’t touch you for days. Weeks.” His grip sped up on my cock, in direct opposition to what he said. I felt his lips against my neck; faint kisses on my overheated skin.

“Stop, please.” I squeezed my eyes shut, tried to ignore everything I was feeling.

“I don’t believe you mean that. Your cock is leaking all over my hand.”

“ _Please_ ,” I gasped, desperate. I felt release building – the tight heat drawing together all of the pleasure in my cock and balls, the feel of his lips on my neck, the feeling of being _forced._ It was too much.

Suddenly everything stopped; his hands no longer touching me, his lips no longer kissing me. I heaved air into my lungs, shaking from the loss. The blindfold was suddenly ripped from my eyes and Nicolo – my beloved – hovered over my face.

“I need to see your eyes,” he gasped, and our mouths came together. _I could kiss this man for hours_ , I thought. I could spend days exploring the juxtaposition of the softness of his lips with the growls that vibrated in his throat. I loved both sides of him, soft and hard. He broke away with a moan.

“Is this still all right?”

I laughed in response. “God, yes, keep going, this is driving me mad.”

“Oh, thank God,” he said. He leaned over me and untied the rope so that my arms were free of the bed but still tied together.

“I want to do so much to you, but first I want to watch you touch yourself, like that day in the river,” he continued. The command hit me hard, arousal making my head swim. “Were you thinking of me?” he asked.

“Always,” I sighed. “Always.”

“Good.”

“Let my hands go,” I requested.

“No,” he responded simply. “I’m using you,” he continued. “That is what you wanted. And this is what _I_ want. I want to see your desperation, Yusuf. Think of all the times you thought of me and touched yourself.” Arousal coursed through me even stronger than before. _This is what he wants_. I dropped my right hand to my cock and felt how hard I was, how much come had leaked from me already. My hand shook slightly; my head drove back against the bed.

“Do it,” he said, and the coldness in his voice was what finally made my hands move. I squeezed my fist and drew over the head and back down, slowly, wanting to let him see. The rope scraped against the sensitive skin.

“Let my hands go, Nico.” He started to interject so I rushed on. “I can’t…I can’t do all I would, if my hands are tied.” I raised my hands in supplication and he stared at me for a long moment before untying the rope that twined my hands together. I raised myself to sit up against the head of the bed and dropped my right hand back down to my cock. I squeezed it, drawing my fist from the flushed head and back down, but that was too much. I loosened my grip slightly and jerked just below the head, barely moving except for my wrist.

“What are you thinking of?” he asked.

“What’s in front of me,” I gasped. My left hand flailed out to my thigh; Nico grasped it and I held it tight against my skin. I caught a flash of his otherworldly eyes beneath his lowered brows and his thick bottom lip and that damnable spot next to it and his tongue darted out before he bit his lips and again, all of the arousal I’d felt so far threatened to drown me. I was too close; if I came he’d be displeased.

“This feels too good, Nico.” I said. I kept moving my hand up and down but loosened my grip further.

“You’re close?”

I jerked my head yes, couldn’t think of how much I wanted him, how he was everything I’d ever hoped I might have – could hardly look at him.

“Look at me,” he said. My eyes snapped to his. “Keep going,” he ordered. “Don’t come.”

I groaned in frustration – how could I possibly be expected to keep touching myself and not come?

“You said you needed your other hand,” he said, leading me. “For what?” He knew for what; my love, the bastard.

“You know,” I responded through gritted teeth.

“Let me see,” he said.

“I can’t…I don’t want to come,” I said.

“You won’t.”

I closed my eyes and thought of being shot with an arrow, tried to even my breathing. My hand left Nico’s warm grasp and slid around and under my thigh. I traced the skin around my entrance for a moment before sliding in.

“ _Oh_.” Nico was flushed, his teeth sunk deep into that bottom lip.

I added another finger, bent so that both sank all the way in to the bottom knuckle.

“You look…” he trailed off.

“Yes?” I prompted.

“Wicked. Like everything I’d been told to guard against. I want to defile you.”

I groaned at his casual blasphemy. “My priest. _Please_. Do whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want.” A third finger was added; I wanted to feel full, I wanted him to see what he did to me. I groaned, and began to thrust into my hand.

“Yusuf.” I looked up at him, my mouth open; I must have looked the picture of gluttonous pleasure. “Stop.” 

I groaned, but pulled my hands away immediately. It was genuinely – if exquisitely - painful; I’d been too close for too long.

“Would you have come without my permission?”

“No…” I groaned. _Yes._

“I had planned to use you all night, Yusuf. If you come, that would be finished. What a disappointment.” I groaned. He was shockingly good at this. “Turn over,” he said. “Get on your hands and knees.”

I turned over and brought myself up onto my forearms. I tried not to think about what might happen. If I did, I would come – at that point it didn’t matter if he laid a finger on me.

My cock and heart pounded as I listened to Nico move around behind me. I heard the unmistakable sound of him stroking himself and forced myself not to turn to look. I felt his eyes on me, assessing, judging; glorious. He laid a palm on my neck and squeezed slightly, a reminder of earlier, and then drew his fingertips down my spine.

“I love to see you like this,” he said, “kneeling for me, penitent.” His nails drew down my ass, drawing closer to my entrance. I groaned. This sex made me feel… more than I’d ever felt. Was that possible? No – every time we came together it felt like more than I’d ever felt. But perhaps _this_ was the most, this time.

He slapped one of my cheeks and I gasped, shocked. It stung, but the sting faded quickly. “Is this all right?” he said, as he rubbed the lingering pain into the muscles.

“Yes,” I sighed. He hit me again.

“When I was a priest, I heard of monks who would whip each other, or themselves. To allow them to focus more completely on worshipping God.” He brought his hand down on my other cheek. This time the pain spread out from the strike, deep and hot. “I never understood it then, but I believe I do now.” After a few more strikes he said, “Do you feel you’re ready to worship?”

My cock felt like it was leaking continuously, desire coursed through me until I felt dizzy with it. _He owns me completely_ , I thought wildly. _He could kill me now and I would be happy._

“Yes,” I said deliriously. “Yes, please.”

I felt him move behind me, so his cock was lined up with my ass. I felt him press his greased fingers in just as the fingernails of his other hand dug into my shoulder. It felt like he drew blood but it barely registered; and what did it really matter?

Nico slid a finger straight into the bottom knuckle; I was already open from my own fingers. “This is what you wanted,” he said.

“Yes,” I sighed. “Everything I’ve ever wanted. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”

I felt another finger enter, massaging inside until he hit that spot. I groaned and dropped my head to the bed; it felt too heavy to hold up when he did that.

“ _God_ ,” I heard him say behind me. “You look so beautiful. I want to keep you like this forever.”

“Whatever you want,” I muttered. I felt as if my grip on reality was beginning to loosen.

“I want to own you,” he said, “just as you own me.” A trickle of cold arousal went down my spine at that. I wanted that more than anything; I wanted him to know that he owned me body and soul, that my heart was no longer my own – that it was his, entirely. He penetrated me deeper, twisting and curling his fingers until I could not breathe but to moan.

“You want more?” he asked. I nodded weakly in response. “Don’t come,” he reminded me, as he added a third finger. This was too much, it felt too good, I needed it to end, didn’t want it to ever end.

“Please,” I said.

“Please what?”

“Fuck me. Please.” I heard him release a long, low groan and realized that he must be in as much pain as I was. “I need you, Nicolo, please.”

He leaned over me and gripped my cock, moaning again when he felt how wet I was.

“You do,” he agreed. He bit at my shoulder blade, hard, and more come flowed from me and into his waiting palm. He drew back and I heard him slick himself down with what I’d given him. _He’s going to fuck your come into you and then fuck his come into you too. You’ll both be inside._ The thought made me delirious with pleasure.

I felt him line his cock up at my entrance and only his strong grip on my hips keeping me still kept me from fucking back onto him. He pushed inside and in that moment it felt as if all the air was sucked from the room, from the city, from the world. There was nothing else, just the two of us and our soft sounds as he slipped further and further into me. I wanted, then, more than I’d ever wanted anything, to simply hold his hand. I dropped further down and lifted my hands above my head so he could get to them. He immediately slid one hand into mine; our flingers slid together, desperation for skin-to-skin contact making us clumsy. He squeezed my hand before placing our intertwined fingers into my hair and pulling me up, up, up, until his chest pressed against my back and he turned my head – he kissed me.

It felt glorious, somehow darker and more intimate than anything else we’d done so far. My stubble scraped his chin as he deepened the kiss, his tongue entering my mouth as I opened for him as helplessly as I’d opened for his cock. He pressed one hand on my jaw and one against my throat, tilting my head and forcing his way further inside. I covered the hand at my neck with my own and slid my other hand into his hair, twining us together even more fully before pulling away slightly so I whisper against his lips, “Please, Nicolo. I need more.”

He groaned and jerked against me, bottoming out. I dropped down again to my hands and he grabbed my hips to pull me back towards him. He started pumping in and out. My gasps became a long continuous moan.

“This is what I wanted,” he said, “to be inside of you, to fill you up with my come.” He gasped. “You feel like heaven itself,” he whispered. “Maybe this is our heaven, if we never die.” I nodded in agreement; I could do little else, words were long gone, I felt drunk and drugged. Each thrust felt better than the last, almost _too_ good, I wished my hands were tied again.

He clasped my cock in his fist and a bolt of desire shot up my spine, making my arms jerk so that I collapsed again to my forearms.

“This is mine,” he muttered absently. “Your cock, your pleasure, your body. All mine.” He pumped in and out twice more and then told me to turn over.

I watched the pleasure on his face as he pushed immediately back into me. Our sex was always so good, but _this,_ this was startling, how much he seemed to genuinely enjoy being inside of me as much as I enjoyed being inside of him. We could do this forever, I realized, switch back and forth, indulge in whatever ways we wanted. I smiled stupidly at the thought.

“God, you are so beautiful,” he said, taking in my face.

“As are you,” I responded, still smiling. He laughed.

“I am as God made me,” he said.

“You are. And this is what he made you for.” He gazed into my eyes and dropped down to kiss me.

“I think, perhaps, you may be right,” he said against my lips. He kept moving in me, and I felt the rising tide of pleasure. No matter how gentle we were, it would take me soon enough, I’d been too close to the edge for too long.

“Faster,” I said. His face flushed and he did as I commanded, hips racing again. His hand went back to my cock and his hand began to move just as fast.

“Nicolo.”

“ _Oh_ ,” he said. I rose up and dragged him down by the neck. He took me deeply, steadily, and I felt love bloom in my chest and spread out, meeting with the pleasure that grew from low in my belly. The two feelings mixed together and my need mounted inexorably, dragging me steadily closer to coming.

“I love you,” I said against his ear.

“And I love you,” he gasped above me. I smiled, because I believed it was true.

He planted his knees wider and his hips quickened, taking me in long rigid thrusts.

“I’m going to come,” I told him. I felt suddenly clear headed, hyper-aware of his breathing, his muscles tightening above and around me, the feel of his cock pulsing inside of me.

“My love,” he moaned, and I felt him surrender to it at the same time I did, felt his come flooding me, felt a merciful pleasure swallowing me entirely until there was nothing left of me. For long seconds I felt suspended in a perfect eternal joy, and it was only Nico’s gasping and trembling that brought me back and it was his perfect face hovering over mine that welcomed me home.

We smiled foolishly at each other as the world returned, piece-by-piece. I became vaguely aware of the smell of the candles burning, the sound of the crowd below our window, the sight of the canopy above us. I had to remind myself how to breathe, to inhale and exhale.

Nicolo was collapsed on top of me, his weight comforting and warm.

“I don’t wish to move,” he mumbled against my neck.

“You do not have to,” I responded, my fingers drifting against the skin of his back. I felt his cock softening inside. He sighed.

“I suppose that one day I will stop being surprised by how pleasurable it is, to be with you.”

“I hope not,” I said, nuzzling my lips against his hair. Without my beard I could feel each individual strand against my cheeks and I decided that I liked the sensation quite a bit.

He propped his head up on my chest and looked up at me, those eyes roaming over my face. “Yusuf… I want you to know that you make me feel…like myself, entirely. Like I am only myself when I am with you.”

“You are always yourself, Nico.”

“No, I mean…if I were never with you again, I would no longer know who I am. You make me feel complete. Whole.”

Nothing in the world could have stopped my smile.

“You _do_ love me, don’t you?” I asked.

“I’ve been telling you –“ I interrupted him with a kiss, poured everything I had into it, into him. All of my love; all of my hopes and dreams. He groaned into my mouth.

“Never stop telling me,” I finally said, staring into those beautiful eyes. “Please, never stop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, I'll let you know that I won't be posting for a few weeks. In a few days, husband, dogs, and myself are going on a long road/camping trip with no internet access. First vacation since February.
> 
> As always, thank you to every single person who's left kudos, comments, subscribed, bookmarked (damn there's a lot of options aren't there?), or just read secretly in bed with no proof whatsoever. I feel genuinely touched that so many people have even read this work, let alone enjoyed it.
> 
> I'm sure I'll still be writing, so expect a new chapter in about three weeks. We'll be getting back into, you know, plot. :) Until then, stay safe and sane and I'll catch you on the flip side. Don't let the bastards get you down.  
> \-- marbletopempire


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise chapter! Stopped at coffee shop, checked work emails. This chapter was ready to go so I figured I'd do a cheeky little update. I'm really not updating for another two weeks this time - off into the wilderness.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**Yusuf**

Consciousness came to me slowly the next morning, piecemeal, as if the world was loathe to intrude upon my tranquility. Shades of yellow and red danced beneath my eyelids, sunlight making a painted canvas for my eyes alone. Nico’s soft hair brushed against my forehead and my lips hovered over the back of his neck. I dimly registered that my arms were still wrapped around his body but was not surprised: the bone-deep contentment I felt when we’d fallen asleep the night before must have weighed me down; kept me from moving. And why would I want to move, when my current position held all I dreamed of?

Nico stirred and his hand sought mine; our fingers intertwined. I smiled against his neck and whispered a kiss against his soft skin.

“Good morning,” he said.

“It is indeed,” I responded. I sensed his smile.

“I suppose we should rouse ourselves. It’s late.”

I eyed the light coming in from the window – he was right; it was much later than when we usually left the bed.

“No,” I said.

“No?”

“No.” I pulled him even closer to me, so every inch of his back pressed against my front. Our legs tangled together. Nico sighed, and I heard happiness in it.

“We should be following Huang,” he said.

“Why? He’ll be in the same spot he’s been every day at this time.”

He hummed. “Still.” I groaned and flopped over onto my back; Nico turned to lay his head on my chest. He twined his fingers with mine again and brought them to his mouth to kiss my knuckles, and then stared at our hands clasped together as if it was some new discovery. He met my gaze and I saw a thought form in his eyes. “I love you,” he said, and leaned in to kiss me. I sighed into the press of his soft, warm lips.

“I know,” I responded.

“Good,” he said. He laid his head at my shoulder and continued to contemplate our hands on my chest. Our fingers slid against one another. “I suppose we don’t have to move just yet.” I kissed the top of his head and stroked his hair, feeling perfectly content in that moment, quietly cradling him in my arms in the morning sun.

“I feel entirely at peace,” he murmured. I still said nothing, hoping he would keep talking. My patience was rewarded when his next words breathed across my skin. “I believe this is the happiest I have ever been, these past weeks. Being with you… it feels as if I’ve come to life.”

That was a mournful thought. “Where you not before?”

“Not really, I don’t think. I have always been scared. I suppose I am still scared, a little, but when you hold me it feels as if I never will be again.”

I sighed at his sentiment. That this strong man felt safe with _me…_ I pushed his chin up with our still interlocked hands and met his gaze squarely. “I will strive for you to feel nothing but joy for the rest of your life, my love. For now, if I can take away any fear, I consider that a success.” His gaze shifted between my eyes. “As for me… you have been like the moon, waxing and waning, but now you feel like a full circle, and your light blinds me. I know, now, that it will illuminate the rest of my days.”

He buried his face against my neck and drew his hand up to curl possessively in my hair. “I don’t know how to respond to that, Yusuf, it’s too lovely.”

“Too much?” I asked.

“No. I simply don’t know how to say what I feel the way you do.” I felt his lips press against my throat. He drew up his head to meet my eyes. “I love you.”

“That’s all you need to say,” I responded. We smiled at each other. He kissed my nose.

“I love you,” he said.

“Poetry,” I breathed.

“I love you,” he sighed against my forehead in Greek; whispered it against my right cheek in Mandarin; breathed it against my left cheek in his native tongue; pressed it against my lips again in Arabic. He pulled my head towards his and placed my forehead against mine.

“Do you know what I’m thinking?” he asked.

“That you love me?” I responded.

“Yes,” he sighed, and then smiled, dazzling me with his love. “I knew that would work, some day.”

* * *

I finally emerged from our little nest only when I could no longer ignore my bladder. After relieving myself, I quickly dressed and headed down to the courtyard for water so we could wash. Waiting in the queue at the pump, I overheard the phrase “dragon boats” and my interest was immediately piqued enough to eavesdrop on my neighbors conversation.

“What time will you go to the river?” asked one.

“In a few hours. Starts mid-afternoon, right?” said the other.

“Yes. I’m just glad I don’t have to work today.” He filled up his bucket. “I’m exhausted. Why do we have children?” His companion laughed.

“Well, they’ll be kept entertained today at least. Between the race and the fireworks, they’ll sleep like the dead.”

“I hope so. Maybe Mei and I can finally have some private time.”

“Careful,” his companion said, filling up his bucket now. “That’s why you have so many children already.” He laughed when the other man sighed, and they walked away together.

_Well, I thought, that sounds for more fun than standing outside of Huang Tingjian’s workshop all day, listening to nothing._

* * *

“I am curious, Nico, to hear your thoughts on the shape of this particular structure,” I asked.

We were standing at the base of the pagoda, our necks craned up to try and take it all in. It was the height of dozens of men, a circle that was wide at the base and gradually narrowed as it thrust into the air. All the way at the top, under the eaves, were wind chimes that sang out a tranquil sonorousness. Apparently stairs went all the way up the to top, to provide a view of the city below. It was a marvel of engineering, human ingenuity at its finest, a wonder: It also looked remarkably like a penis.

Nico looked over at me, confusion on his face. We began to walk to the entrance. “What do you mean?”

“Does it remind you of anything?”

We stepped into the cool darkness and began to mount the steps, Nico in front. “My dear,” he said over his shoulder, “I truly don’t know what you mean.”

“If you could see me, I would raise my eyebrows in a suggestive manner,” I said to his back.

“Oh, you mean that it looks like a large, erect, cock?”

I barked out a laugh.

“Is that what you mean?” he pressed on. I could hear his smile.

I grinned, surprised as always at his sly humour.

“Yes, that is what I meant,” I responded wryly. “Though I’m surprised that you would note such a thing. A priest…” I tutted, in mock outrage.

“A lustful priest,” he said.

“Oh yes? Tell me more, my beautiful priest,” I responded. Just then, a Buddhist monk passed us on the left and we stopped to let him pass and bowed our heads to show respect. He nodded at us in thanks. I stifled laughter at the juxtaposition. Nicolo swatted at me and told me to hush, but I saw laughter on his face too. We were silent, the rest of the way up. It was a quiet place; the brick walls sufficiently thick to block out the sounds from outside, and the priests were uniformly solemn. Perhaps I should have felt guiltier at my disrespect for a holy place, but I was half-witted with love, just then, and unable to care. The smell of incense and Nico twined together in my nose as I followed him up the steps, and I thought, _he is just as holy to me as this shrine is to that monk._

We stepped from the darkness out into the sunlight, our eyes taking a few seconds to adjust to the difference. Below us was the wide expanse of the shrine’s square, dotted with people here and there, all the way to the glittering Huang He River.

“This was a good idea,” Nico said, as we walked along the circumference of the tower. “I don’t believe I’ve ever been so high up.”

“No?”

He leaned his elbows against the ledge and looked out over the rooftops. “No,” he confirmed, “but I like it. Feels like you can see forever.” I leaned next to him, my forearm brushing against his. He smiled over at me and then looked away, but I did not turn.

“You have a wonderful nose,” I said to him.

He laughed. “Do I? I’ve always thought it rather large.”

“Never,” I said, and grinned at him. “It’s distinguished.”

“That’s a euphemism if I’ve ever heard one,” he responded, smiling back at me. I watched his face, and thought for the thousandth time that he was the rarest kind of beautiful, handsome and strong but delicate. But when he smiled at me… he was transcendent, like the moon appearing from behind clouds to shine its calming rays on the darkness.

“You have a look, Yusuf,” he said, interrupting my reverie.

“Do I?” I said, not looking away from him.

He rolled his shoulders and knocked one against mine. “You do. What are you thinking?”

I considered the question seriously, wanting, as ever, to get the words right when we spoke of love. My gaze roamed over his face. “I was thinking that I will never have the right words to describe how I feel about you.” He blushed and ducked his head, bashful. “But I’ll try every day until I get it right.”

“Every day? Might that be quite a long time?”

“Yes. And thank God for it – I’ll be able to tell you so many more times.”

He turned towards me, edging his fingers along my wrist, before gently tugging me towards him. I edged closer, watching him take a deep breath. His eyes darted between mine as he drew me towards him. His lips pressed against mine, briefly – just a soft, quiet kiss and my name on a whisper. “Yusuf.”

I shivered slightly, from that alone, and he pulled away and looked around, apparently remembering where we were. There was no one, but I doubt either of us would have cared at that point.

He watched him swallow and turn away before leaning against the ledge again. He breathed in deeply before dropping forward and looking down. “I believe there’s a performance happening below us. Shall we join the audience?”

The fog that had descended upon me at the languorous kiss slowly dissipated and I nodded. We walked down the stairs and left the pagoda, circling its base until we found the group Nico had spotted from above. A man stood on a wooden stage, holding forth. We stood at the back of the group, listening for a few moments.

I leaned forward and whispered in his ear, “It’s a poetry reading.” His grasp of the language was more tenuous than mine. “Would you like me to translate?” The short hair behind his ear swayed with my breath and I saw a little shiver.

“Yes,” he whispered back. The next poem began.

“The title is ‘The Florid Sleeves,'" I told him.

“It is not,” he protested.

“It is, I promise, now hush, so I can hear.” The orator began his performance and I translated as rapidly as I could – relatively simple since the performer took a slow, sonorous tack.

“Holding the jade cup to you,

with my arms reaching,

out of the florid sleeves-“

“Huh,” said Nico under his breath. “I really didn’t believe you.” I poked him in his ribs so he’d be quiet.

“I was so happy drinking with you,

heedless of my flushed cheeks, dancing

with the moon, sinking,

in the willow trees, singing,

until I was too tired to wave the fan that unfolds

a peach blossom.”

“That’s charming,” he whispered back. I thought perhaps the poem had finished but then he continued on, so I did too.

“How I have since missed you,

dreaming of meeting you again and again.”

Nico leaned back slightly so that our arms touched. I knew the words made him think of our own story.

“Tonight, I keep turning the silver lamp

to your face. Oh, we are really together,

yet I’m afraid we’re meeting

in a recurring dream.”

As the audience clapped politely, Nico sighed softly and whispered, “I wish I could kiss you again.” I caught his fingers in mine for a brief moment and squeezed, trying to show him I wished the same.

We walked quietly across the square towards the Huang He. I turned over the last lines in my head, hoping to memorize them. _How I have since missed you, dreaming of meeting you again and again…_

“That was a lovely poem,” said Nico, as we turned down the path that ran along the river.

“It was,” I agreed. “Rather fitting, too.”

He shot a wry look at me. “You’re going to say something unbearably romantic now, aren’t you? Please don’t, it’s torture not to be able to drag you somewhere and kiss you senseless in response.”

I grinned at him.

“Don’t, Yusuf,” he cautioned, but he was smiling back at me.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said, through my smile.

“Good.” He narrowed his eyes at me, lines collecting at the corners, before he looked up at the blossoming trees. Down the river a ways I could see a large crowd and a number of brightly colored boats floating in the water. They were decorated to look like dragons. “Dragon race” suddenly made sense.

“Though, speaking of dreams –“

“Yusuf!” he laughed, interrupting me.

“What?” I played dumb, enjoying myself far too much to stop.

“You know what,” he muttered.

“I wouldn’t say anything unbearably romantic. I won’t say that every day with you feels like a dream.” He made an exasperated sound but I knew he was happy. “I won’t!” The look he shot at me was pure malevolence and I laughed at it. “Ah, Nico, my dearest love. I can’t help it. You make me want to say these things. If you stop being so wonderful, perhaps I’ll stop making declarations.”

He chuckled and briefly brushed against my hand. “You really can’t help it, can you?”

“Well, I suppose that I _could_ , but why would I want to?”

He caught my gaze. The light bouncing off of the blue river stained his eyes the same color as the Mediterranean when we’d stood at the docks at Ashdod.

“Well, I suppose I shall have to find a way to bear it,” he said, grinning at me. His voice dropped to a whisper and he leaned in so his breath whispered against my lips. “Though secretly, I’ll hope to keep hearing it.”

I stared at his lips and wondered how likely we were to be attacked if I kissed him then, when I heard my name shouted from the crowd.

“Yusuf! Nicolo!” We turned to see Fatima and the girls, who were waving frantically at us. Sabah, bless her, ran up to Nico and made grabby hands at him – the universal sign for “pick me up”. He scooped her up and I felt my heart expand as I watched her little hands wrap around his neck in a hug.

“Why if it isn’t the al-Tammar women!” I said, laughing in surprise. Fatima drew me into a hug and then tousled Sabah’s hair as she greeted Nico. Rashika and Karida waved at us, but no hugs were proffered. They appeared to have their hands full of rice, which was...odd.

“We’re here for the dragon race,” said Fatima. “You as well?”

“Yes. Though we have no idea why it’s happening – we decided to investigate after I overheard our neighbors discussing it this morning.”

“From my understanding, it’s to appease the water dragons,” she responded. “Wards off bad luck. We were on our way to feed the dragons now, actually.” She waved back at the girls and comprehension dawned – they were holding sticky rice balls. “Come with?”

Nico shifted Sabah to his other hip and looked at me for confirmation. I nodded my head _of course._

“We’d be honored,” he said. Fatima walked past me towards where we’d just come from. I fell into step next to her.

“I have a feeling the dragons will just be large catfish,” she muttered to me, “but, still, it if makes Sabah happy…” I chuckled. "You shaved your beard," she went on, dodging as a young child almost ran straight into her knees. I had a moment of concern that she would disapprove, but I should not have, as her next words were typical Fatima. "Looks good."

"Thank you," I said.

Rashida caught up with us. “Yusuf, would you hold some of these rice balls? Mother won’t take them because she says they’re too sticky.” She shot a mutinous look at Fatima, who responded without guile, “Well, they _are.”_

I obliged, and we walked to the pond that was, according to Sabah’s excited chattering, stuffed full of dragons.

* * *

“My feet are killing me,” groaned Nico, as he leaned against the doorjamb to our rooms. I unlocked the door and we fell in, somehow more exhausted from our day of leisure than we normally would be from a day of work. I sat at one of our chairs and Nico collapsed onto the bed face down. I groaned when I took off my boots, the immediate release of pressure legitimately pleasurable.

“Take off your boots Nico, it’s life-changing,” I said. He mumbled something I couldn’t understand into the bed.

“What?” I asked.

“It’s too far,” he responded and I laughed.

“Your feet are too far from your hands? Good God, Nico, are you or are you not an immortal warrior?”

“An exhausted immortal warrior, yes.” I walked over to the bed and helped him take off his right boot first and then his left boot. I sat down on the bed and told him to turn over. He did, and I took his right foot into my hands and pressed in at the heel. His groan was an all-encompassing thing. “Oh, Yusuf, that feels good.”

“Good,” I responded, applying pressure to the ball of his foot.

“I love you,” he sighed, and I grinned.

“Only for my strong hands,” I said.

“Yes, only for that,” he said wryly. I kept kneading at the muscles, watching his expression. He looked transported, like he was near climax in truth. “You are very good at this,” he said.

“Thank you,” I responded.

“Though I fear you’ve made a misstep here, my beloved.”

“How so?”

“You should not have shown this skill so soon. You should have waited a few decades, or centuries. Now that I know you do this so well, it’s all I’ll want.”

I laughed at his thought process.

“I want you to be happy, my love, and if a foot massage makes that happen, I will gladly give them to you.”

“You say that now…” he trailed off, his eyes closed. I switched feet and watched as a drowsy smile bloomed on his face. “The fireworks were amazing,” he mumbled.

“They were,” I agreed.

“And it’s nice to have an accurate representation of how it feels when you make me come,” he said. I laughed again.

“The fireworks?”

He nodded, yes. His eyes were still closed. “Yes. How they’re so tightly wound until the right spark hits them. Then they explode and all that’s left is shimmering light. Like me, when we touch.”

“Now who’s saying unbearably romantic things?” I said, and kissed his foot. He wiggled his toes and chuckled.

I crawled up the bed as he turned on his side. I curled myself around him and dropped a kiss against his neck.

“Good night, my heart.” I could tell that he was already half- asleep. I closed my eyes and followed him into the dark.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, it's me, I'm back. Hope you enjoy.

**Nicolo**

The morning we finally made some progress with Huang Tingjian was much like any other. It was sweltering, as usual; the heat sizzled up from the hard-packed dirt beneath our feet and beamed down on us from the oppressive sun. We walked quietly from stall to stall, pretending to shop and socialize; I tried to ignore my near-desperate desire to drag Yusuf away to fuck him; we always kept one eye on the workshop that stood towards the corner of the marketplace. We were always waiting for _something_ to happen. Finally, that day, it did.

Yusuf noticed it first, and nodded infinitesimally towards the workshop so that I might too. A wooden two-wheeled cart led by two donkeys and a man trundled down the small lane that separated the buildings from the stalls and then rolled to a stop in front of the door. The man dropped the donkey’s reins and knocked on the door in a complicated manner that was instantly recognizable – even to so novice a spy as myself - as code. He waited for a few seconds before the door swung open for him to enter.

As he disappeared from our sight, Yusuf and I wordlessly moved together from our spot many stalls down from the workshop so that we could get closer. At the stall closest to the entrance he grabbed a bolt of cloth and asked the shopkeeper for a price; all the man would have seen of us as he exited the workshop was one brown-skinned man asking a pale one for his thoughts on the color of the cloth. Without moving my head and still pretending to contemplate the fabric, I eyed what the man held as he walked from the shop and loaded it into the cart: It was a longish spear, perhaps half as long as myself, with a metal cylinder attached to the end.

“Looks like a fire-lance,” Yusuf said under his breath to me. I’d never heard of such a thing.

The man draped some cloth over the lance and then went back inside. He quickly returned with another one, which he also covered with the cloth. In and out he went, until perhaps a half-dozen were stacked on the cart.

“We should grab one, yes?” I asked Yusuf from the side of my mouth. He nodded in response, still looking at the cloth as if deliberating the purchase.

“We’ll have to do it quick,” he said, watching the man load the cart. “Casual,” he said. He looked at me, a question in his eyes.

“I’ll do it,” I volunteered.

“All right. Walk up, grab it, walk away. Easy and calm. I’ll stay with you.” We turned to look again at the man, who was now walking away from the cart and back into the shop.

“Go,” he said. We approached the cart, Yusuf flicked the covering back and I reached in and grabbed one of the lances. It was surprisingly heavy; I tried not to let out the grunt of surprise that threatened in my throat. We walked away. No one was the wiser.

* * *

“Fascinating,” said Amir. The three of us were staring down at the lance on a table in his home later that day. I could hear Sabah screaming at Fatima in another room as Karida laughed at her sisters distress. Oddly, it made me miss Genova. “It’s a modified fire-lance,” he continued, drawing me from my thoughts, motioning at the metal cylinder. “See? They’ve just replaced the bamboo cylinder with a metal one.”

Yusuf pointed at the small hole at the base of the cylinder. “So, it’s lit here?”

Amir hummed in agreement. “I believe so. They must pack the powder in with projectiles, as with the lances, but I imagine the metal must make it far more powerful.”

“And less likely to explode,” muttered Yusuf. I turned to him and raised my brows – he seemed to speak from experience. At my look he said, “I’ve seen them used before. The bamboo shoot is to direct the fire, but half the time they just explode in the lancer’s face. It’s about as deadly to both sides. But with metal, the projectiles would be far more accurate, and far less…well, like I said, less likely to explode. Much more dangerous.”

My heart sank. Any progress in the art of war was always, and would always be, worrying.

“Was there anything else being loaded into the cart?” asked Amir.

“No,” I responded, “just these.”

Amir sighed, and when he next spoke it was back to business. “We need more.”

“More of these guns?” I asked.

“More weapons,” he responded. “Other weapons. Their gunpowder, too, if you can get it.”

Yusuf and I looked at each other and silently assented to continue the work. I noted absently that it pleased me to know what he was thinking, now.

“Alright boss,” said Yusuf. “We’ll report back soon.”

* * *

The next morning we were back in the marketplace, and I was staring intently at a bead of sweat running down the side of Yusuf’s neck, thinking that I would like to follow the same trail with my tongue.

“Nicolo, are you listening to me?” asked Yusuf. It sounded far away, intent as I was on that bead of sweat.

“No,” I said absently, “I am not.” I didn’t take my eyes from where I could see the pulse of his blood flowing through the large vein at the side.

“Shouldn’t you be paying attention?” He said it with a smirk; he knew exactly where my thoughts lay. Just that morning I had sucked on that spot as he’d groaned and writhed underneath me, until a bruise had bloomed for a few glorious moments before fading away. I tore my eyes away from that pounding pulse and looked into his soft gaze.

“I am,” I finally said, “but not to the workshop.”

I watched his eyes go almost imperceptibly wider as he swallowed, his throat moving beneath the skin. I liked that I could see his neck’s movements so well with his shorter beard. He hadn’t shaved it again since that first time and I wanted to run my fingers through the wiry hair and to pull his mouth to mine. Ever since I’d been the aggressor in bed those nights ago and we’d seemingly – _finally_ \- made our way fumblingly to an uncomplicated kind of love – or, as uncomplicated as our love could be - it was if a dam had broken. The guilt was gone, and sex – specifically sex with Yusuf - was seemingly all I could think about. Every moment we weren’t touching was torture. Besides the lovely day of the dragon race, we had been fucking constantly, practically every morning and every night, and I still couldn’t get enough. _If you lived for a thousand years, would you get enough?_ Right now, it certainly didn’t feel like I would.

“Nicolo,” he said, with a warning in his voice.

“Yes?”

“The job?” He smiled briefly at me before grabbing my jaw and forcibly turning it towards the workshop.

“That is not fair,” I said with a laugh, finally wrenching myself into the moment. We were sitting on some stone stairs leading to a locked door that was adjacent to the workshop. It was a spot we’d found weeks ago – set far enough back from the building on either side of it that we weren’t in the open, and no one ever seemed to come in or out of that locked door, but we could see the workshop perfectly well.

“Later,” he said softly.

“Later,” I agreed, distracted again, already, by what ‘later’ might entail.

It wasn’t like me, to be so distracted, but then, practically nothing I did anymore was ‘like me’, and that was all down to Yusuf. I found that I did not mind in the slightest.

Just then, we heard a cart rumbling over the hard packed dirt and cobblestones, bouncing side to side against the uneven footing before rolling to a stop in front of the workshop. It was the same man, and donkeys, and cart, from yesterday. We’d agreed to handle it the same as yesterday too: Wait for the man to load up the cart with enough that he wouldn’t immediately notice something missing, grab what we needed, and walk away. It had been easy yesterday; it would be easy today.

We watched from the shadows as the man performed his task, loading what looked like small round stones into the cart one by one. After he’d loaded about a dozen Yusuf looked to me and nodded that we should go. We were two stalls away from the cart when the explosion ripped through the marketplace.

* * *

 _The light is too bright_.

My eyes fluttered open, my lungs expanded –painfully – with air, my muscles began to push shrapnel from my flesh. _The light is so bright._ I blinked against the sun, became aware of my mangled hand twisting itself back to normal, the bones snapping together under the skin. Noise made the world foggy, I heard screams and shouts around me in the still-clearing smoke. _Where is Yusuf?_ As soon as the bones and muscles in my neck mended themselves so that I could move my head I turned to locate him. He lay practically next to my head, and I fell on him as soon as my muscles could take the order to move. Improbably, he was still alive.

“Nico,” he gasped. His words sliced through the fog and I heard his words as clear as day. My recently restarted heart pounded in fear as I took in his wounds; his right leg and right arm were both practically severed, and he had a massive gaping wound in his chest – I could see…far too much. His insides, exposed to the air, steaming in the moist summer air. My arms shook as I held him to me.

“This one hurts,” he said. “I’ve never exploded before.” He sucked in a wet, rattling breath and then smiled weakly up at me. “A new one to add to the list.”

I laughed. Trust Yusuf to be so light at such a time.

“I’d love to just – “ a wheezing gasp cut him off and I heard a gurgling sound from his lungs. He coughed and blood spat against my cheek. “Just get this over with.”

I held his face in my lap and drew my hands through his curls. His wounds didn’t appear to be healing, so I assumed his death was imminent; too nearby to expend the energy. I tried to stay calm as his brown eyes grew panicked and cast wildly about and his left hand clutched at my arm. His breath was coming too fast, and it was wet. I caught his gaze. “I love you,” I said. I watched as the panic drained away, as his eyes became tender and soft, looking at me in that way he had – as if I were the answer to all of his prayers. He continued to stare at me as he sucked in one final rattling breath before his lungs and his heart finally stopped.

I held him, trying to stave off panic. He would come back. _Just a few more seconds._ I looked up and finally took in the world around me – the marketplace had exploded; stalls and bones had splintered, fruit and bodies burst. People were wailing and yelling, trying to make sense of what had happened, how, from one moment to the next, things had changed so drastically. I looked back down to Yusuf and gratefulness overtook me when I saw the twitching in his arm and leg as they began to heal. I watched in horrified fascination as the wound at his chest began to… fill in. Flesh and muscle that had not previously been there suddenly was. His heart began to pump again, and I _saw it happen._ His pupils contracted to their normal size and suddenly – he was here. My Yusuf.

“Welcome back,” I said with a smile.

“Nico,” he said, with a dreamy look that quickly changed into a hiss of pain. His arms flailed up to his torso; I could tell he wanted to examine his chest. I grabbed his hands before he could.

“I wouldn’t, my love.”

“No? Is it so bad?”

“It is. But it’s getting better.” I looked up again, realizing for the first time how out in the open we were, completely exposed. “We need to move.”

He nodded and groaned again. Though his extremities were almost completely healed, the wound at his chest was still healing. I watched as new skin appeared and began to cover the hole.

“I dreamt of the women again, just now,” I said, hoping to keep him distracted. “They know we died.”

“How?” he asked.

“Yusuf, love, you can’t continue to ask how or why about any of this.”

“A fair point,” he groaned. The wound was getting smaller, vanishing before my eyes.

“I think they’re trying to find us,” I continued.

“We should let them,” he said.

“I agree.” His wound was almost completely healed. We needed to move. “Do you think you can walk?”

“Yes,” he said. He sat up and looked around wildly at the carnage that surrounded us. The man who’d been loading the cart was near us, his eyes open and staring at us but apparently unseeing. He was missing an arm.

“Let’s go,” I said, helping Yusuf up and putting an arm around his waist. We staggered away from the scene.

The supposedly dead man’s eyes had seen everything.

* * *

Back in our rooms I pushed Yusuf on the bed, and he sat heavily, laughing.

“Right now?” he asked. He smiled up at me and pulled me by the hips to stand between his legs.

“No,” I responded, as I pressed him to a prone position. “Lie there. I’m going to draw you bath.”

“I’m all right, Nico, really,” he protested. “You forget, I’ve died far more times than you. This was particularly gruesome, I’ll grant you, but I’ve been through this before.”

“Just… let me,” I responded. I leaned over him and closed my eyes before kissing him – behind my eyelids I saw his panicky gaze, the way he’d flailed to find me with dying eyes. His lips parted under mine with a sigh.

“All right,” he said. “If you insist.”

“I insist.” We smiled briefly at each other, his beautiful, blessedly alive eyes sparkling up at mine. I left the bed to begin collecting water.

* * *

The hip bath wasn’t large enough for a truly relaxing wash, but we made do. I had him stand in it, first, and poured buckets over his head, to wash away the smoke and blood and bone that still clung to him. When the water finally ran clear I threw out what was in the bath and filled it again. Yusuf sat with his arms looped around his legs, the water up to just mid-thigh, and I washed him.

We were silent until I began to rub soap through his hair.

“I shall endeavor to be killed in gruesome ways more often, if this is the reward,” he sighed, as I worked my fingers against his scalp.

“Please do not joke about that,” I said. My fingers moved down towards his neck, working up lather.

“I’m not,” he said with a smile. I thought of how I’d been able to see his heart stop beating and drew in a heavy shaking breath. I poured water through his hair with trembling hands and watched the soap flow down the muscles in his back. Muscles that had so recently been blown apart.

He was being so cavalier about his life, but losing him, if even for a few seconds, had been terrifying. I had known that I loved him, before, but the thought of him being stolen from me now made me realize how deep in that love I truly was. I’d only just begun to feel easy – truly easy – in his arms, with what was between us, but now I knew that my life would be empty without his laughter and easy smiles, and the years that stretched out before us were apparently unending. If he died… my breath began to come less easily, energy flooded through my veins so that my hands shook, I felt a lump growing in my throat.

Yusuf turned to stare up at me; my silence had stretched on for too long. His eyes were wide, dark brown in pools of white, moving from my hands to my face, to my chest that gasped for breath, flitting back and forth. He must have grasped my feelings because he turned in the bath, the water splashing over the sides, so that he could take my face in his wet hands. His eyes held mine, and for a moment that’s all he did: He held my stare. He let go of my face to find my hands, to take them in his.

“I’m here, Nicolo,” he finally said. “I’ll always be here.”

“You can’t promise that,” I responded softly.

After a few seconds he nodded. “I suppose I can’t.”

“It was horrible, to watch you die like that. To watch you die at all. I _love you_ , and if you were to leave me, I –“

I stopped and watched him lean forward to bring his forehead to my fingers between us, reminding me of some strange bastardization of penance. I slipped my hands free from his to run my fingers through his wet hair, to hold his head to me and remember how he felt, alive and breathing in my hands. Our eyes met and I stroked his cheek with my thumb. “I love you,” I whispered. “Like I’ve never loved anyone.”

The hands I’d so recently bound were strong as he cupped my face again, and his kiss was bold, quieting me with lips and teeth and tongue. I could taste every other kiss in it – every one stolen, offered, surrendered, the way he’d told me he loved me every time too, _air in my lungs_ , _blood in my veins, even then I knew_. I could smell his skin, the soap, the sharp cold rain on our tent, elephant skin beneath my hands. His laughter, his smiles. I pulled away; feeling drunk on him, and looked into those brown eyes and was not startled at all to see everything reflected back at me. He loved me like he’d never loved anyone too, and if I were to leave him; his life would be empty as well. He saw me as no one else ever had. Recognition: This person was meant for me, and perhaps I would never be able to explain it, but being with him was more than enough.

He smirked at me, as if he could hear my thoughts, and stood, drawing me to the bed. His hands went to my shoulders, urging me onto my back, then I felt the exquisite weight of my love on me as he parted my legs with his own. He cradled the back of my head in his hands and kissed me until my mind was fogged and my body was wound tight with lust, lust made complex with so many other feelings from the day– affection, relief, gratitude, terror, awe. He moved his lips to just under my ear, and I lost myself in the sensations - his hard cock against my thigh, his hungry mouth against my neck, his hips beginning to roll. _He was dead earlier, but now he is not. And_ this _is what life is about._

He pushed up on straight arms and stared down at me, his breathing as labored as my own. I stroked up his arms and down his chest, back to his ass and forward to his hips.

“I want you,” he whispered.

“Show me, then.”

His gaze slid down my body first, then his hands and his tongue, as he moved down the bed. I closed my eyes and sighed as his mouth wrapped around my cock, but opened them again at his noises – the soft exhalations and muffled groans that told me that he enjoyed this as much as I did. I slid my fingers along his scalp and clenched his damp hair in my fist and was immoderately aroused by the way his groans changed in pitch. My head fell back as lust washed over me, but I was already too close, and I didn’t want to come like this. I yanked at his hair to pull him up. He stole one last deep pass at my cock before moving to his knees between my legs and dropping to his elbows. I clasped his cock between then and gloried in his broken moan.

“I love you,” I whispered, and stroked him long and slow.

“I love you.” His head dropped to my throat and I felt him swallow as I continued to stroke him. Finally he nudged my hand away and padded over to where the oil had dropped to the floor when we’d used it last, coming back with it already dripping on his fingers and cock. He braced himself above me again and I studied him, fascinated by this beautiful man who loved me like I'd never dared hope, his cock in his hand and his lips parted and his eyebrows raised in a question. He angled himself against my entrance and I felt the wet coolness of the oil and his come against me.

“Do it,” I said. He hadn’t opened me with his fingers as he normally did, but in that moment I wanted to feel everything life had to give, and as I had been harshly reminded today, sometimes life hurt. He nodded, and slid inside, and we both moaned at the same time. My nails, short as they were, dug into his arm, leaving little red crescents. I breathed through the pain as Yusuf waited, his gaze never leaving my face, searching for signs to stop. He would receive none.

“Go on,” I told him. He began to move, his strokes becoming deeper and steadier with each thrust, his movement hypnotic. I took in everything, his curly hair, his beard, his tanned skin, so recently torn apart. I pushed the thought aside, focused on the rising pleasure twisting together with the still-lingering pain. His cock was hard and thick inside of me, perfectly aggressive, but every moan was one of surrender, a plea that I now recognized perfectly. I brought my hand to my cock and stroked myself a few times with my come, and after such a swift race to the edge, teetering almost the entire short time we’d been in bed, that was all it took. I came, pain and pleasure rushing over me in equal measure and I felt it burning hard and hot and leaving nothing but blessed ash in its wake. Yusuf leaned in and began to stroke inside of me, frantically working towards his own release. I felt his moan and his trembling and knew he was coming apart - three hard thrusts and then his muscles finally relaxed too, his body falling against mine. As I held him and we breathed together, and the world began to intrude again, it struck me that if it was possible to feel every possible human emotion at once, I was doing so now just as I had before. Affection, relief, gratitude, terror, awe. Just then, with the rush of climax immediately past and Yusuf still inside of me it was too much – I felt tears gathering behind my eyes.

Yusuf, as always, missed nothing, dropping his forehead to mine when he caught my expression. His breath mingled with my own.

“I promise, Nico, that I will do everything in my power to stay with you for as long as God allows me to,” he whispered. I let out a harsh, hitching breath, the feelings threatening to overflow. He pulled out of me and urged me to turn over, then draped his arm around me and buried his face in my hair. I felt him breath in deeply. “And you must do the same,” he said.

“Of course,” I responded. I threaded my fingers through his and drew our arms up to my chest so he could feel my heart beating. “I love you. You have my heart, you know,” I said, parroting his words from so long ago back to him. He held me tight and his lips grazed the back of my neck. I felt his smile against my skin. _He is still alive,_ I thought. _You both are._


	35. Chapter 35

**Yusuf**

The next day we went to Amir to tell him of the disastrous conclusion to our mission. It was a misty day; grey and gloomy in a way Kaifeng hardly ever seemed to be. Our faces were wet by the time Fatima opened the door, relief blooming instantaneously on her expression when she saw us.

“I heard. Oh, I’m so glad you’re all right.” She drew me into a tight hug and sniffled against my shirt. Startled, it took me a moment to wrap my arms around her. I thought, _I’ll only have one shirt left if she ruins this one_ – I’d had to toss what I’d been wearing yesterday – and looked over at Nico. His eyes were mournful, staring at the two of us, and I instantly remembered his distress at my death. It had been touching, but I had a faint sense of unease about it: In all probability, he would have to watch me die _many_ more times. I would always come back to him. Why worry?

Fatima let go of me and switched over to Nico; he gave her a full-bodied hug and buried his face in her hair, breathing in deeply. _You love him precisely_ because _he cares so much_ , I thought. After some time – say, a few centuries – he would become inured to death as I had begun to be. Some deaths were more painful – yesterday’s had been particularly so - or more horrifying, but the result would always be the same: Life.

Fatima drew away and looked between us, crossing her arms and drawing in a fortifying breath. “Well, I’m sure you’re here to see Amir, not to be cried upon by an old woman. Come in.” She wiped at her teary face.

“You’re hardly old, Fatima,” I protested as we walked into their complex. Heavy drops of water fell on my face from the eaves.

“I have three children; one girl practically grown. Even if I’m not old in days, I’m old in spirit,” she responded wryly.

Nico smiled Nico’s Smile at her comment and looked to me as she led us through the courtyard and up a few stairs into their dining room. Amir turned and walked quickly towards us as we entered, his eyes obviously taking in our uninjured bodies.

“You were present for the explosion?” Amir asked, by way of hello.

“We were,” confirmed Nico.

“I would ask how you are but you seem entirely well.”

“We are,” said Nico, “you knew we would be.”

“Yes,” he said, his eyes still bouncing between us. “How bad was it?”

“Bad,” I said. “I had a hole blasted through my chest.” I saw Nico swallow reflexively from the corner of my eye. “It was bad, boss.”

He sighed before raising his eyes to look at me. I knew what he would say before he said it. “You were unable to secure any more weapons?”

“Amir!” Fatima chided from behind us. I laughed at his audacity.

“I apologize, my love, but that was what they were sent to do, and they’re both hearty and hale!” Fatima scoffed in response.

“We were unable to secure any more weapons, Amir,” came Nico’s measured response. His face stood in its usual affable repose but I heard anger in his voice. “We were too distracted by dying to think to grab one.” He paused and looked to me, and I saw what was perhaps fury, but I could not tell – I had never seen that particular expression before. “I was too busy watching my beloved’s heart stop beating to consider it. I hope that you will be able to accept our _deepest_ apologies.”

I grasped at his hand and pressed my fingers to his for a moment – _I’m here, I’ll always be here,_ I thought to him. Amir looked at our clasped hands and started to speak.

“Leave it,” came Fatima’s voice from behind us. Unusually for her, there was no laughter whatsoever in the words. Whatever Amir was about to say evaporated. He closed his mouth.

“Of course,” he said, to Nicolo. “Of course. I was – we were both – worried that you’d been there when it happened. I know that you cannot die, but I also know that I will never understand what that’s like. Please accept my apologies.”

“Amir, we have told you before. We _can_ die. We _do_ die. Yusuf _died_ , yesterday, in my arms, trying to procure your weapons. I died too.” Nico did not, apparently, accept his apology. Amir had the grace to look abashed.

“Yes, well… I’m sorry that happened. Truly. Please, take a few days. If you still wish to help, come back here in a week’s time so that we can discuss next steps.”

Fatima walked around us to stand next to her husband. “Come back in a week’s time regardless of your decision,” she said. She took his hand in hers. “We would be honored to host you again for a meal.”

Nico did not move. He continued to stare daggers at Amir. I thanked Fatima for the offer and said goodbyes for the both of us. Nico was stonily silent throughout.

* * *

“He’s very focused on results, I’ll give him that,” I said, as we walked back to our rooms.

Nico looked at me with an incredulously raised eyebrow. “Is that all you have to say?” he asked.

“I suppose so,” I responded. Nico scoffed and looked away. “What?” I continued. “Nico, come now, he’s right! If we die, we come back. It’s inconvenient, and I certainly don’t wish to make a habit of it, but from his perspective, well… we didn’t do our jobs. Though, he should have waited to ask until a more appropriate time, I’ll absolutely grant you that.”

“Yusuf, that is insane. I watched you die!” he hissed, stopping in the middle of the street. “You _died_ , and you’re siding with that man, who only wants to use us for what we are!”

“Yes you saw me die! And I have watched you die. It will happen again, many more times, maybe thousands of times. Millions of times. We will come back! What does it matter?” We were toe-to-toe, our chests heaving, our faces far too close.

“It matters to _me,_ Yusuf! It _matters_ when you die.” He took a deep breath, his nostrils flaring, but the outburst appeared to bring on some calm. We seemed to realize how close we were to fighting in public at the same time, backing off of each other simultaneously and furtively glancing around. One or two people looked at us askance, but we’d been yelling in Arabic – there was no recognition or understanding on their faces. By some silent agreement, we turned to continue walking home as if nothing had happened. We’d drawn far too much attention to ourselves, just then.

Nico’s next words were deadly serious and quiet, contemplative. “You’re always so sure, so confident of everything. Sure that I would find you, confident enough to wait for me to return your love, certain that we will never die.” He sighed and looked up at the leaves that swayed over our heads, the trees on either side of the wide walkway trained through time and patience to twine together so that it might provide a canopy that kept us from the elements. It was lovely. What a metaphor. “You don’t know though, do you?” He glanced at me. “It seems unlikely that we will live forever. Death must await us someday. You said yourself, just yesterday, that you’ll stay with me for as long as God _allows_ you to.”

I had said that, hadn’t I?

“And perhaps I shall care less, someday. We may have a very long life, and I may become accustomed to death. Perhaps, one day, it will not kill me to see you die.” He glanced at me again and then looked away. His lips were drawn tightly together. “But I do not think that will happen for a very, very long time."

My mind raced in a dozen directions; this conversation had escaped my grasp entirely. Why were we even fighting? “It isn’t that I don’t care that it happens, my love, it’s that it will happen over and over again. Death will be inevitable, for us.”

“It wasn’t for me, for a very long time.”

“But, Nico, love, you were a wealthy merchant living in a wealthy city. You have been comfortable in a way that most people never are, nor will be. Death is a constant. Truly, it’s shocking we haven’t died _more_ , considering our line of work.”

I looked over at him, but he stared resolutely ahead, ignoring my gaze. “I suppose there is some truth in that,” he finally muttered, almost as if he spoke to himself. I could sense his anger ebbing away.

“And you’re right, of course, that I don’t know when, or if, we can die. But it seems likely to me that at the very least it is supremely difficult for us to stay dead, and that, considering that we shall die, we should not dwell on how it happens. That’s no way to live.” Still, he did not look at me, his jaw set tight. “I love you,” I whispered.

He turned and cocked a half smile at me, irritated but loving, his features dissolving from their stony façade of moments before. “That is not fair,” he responded.

“Life isn’t fair, my love. I’ll play as dirty as I need to, to get you to smile at me.” He rolled his eyes, but his smile broadened almost against his will. His smile. I remembered thinking, so long ago, that women must fall to their knees when he smiled like that. Well, I was no woman, but the effect was the same. _I want him to fuck me senseless,_ I thought. We had arrived at our building and were walking through the courtyard. No one was around. “I want you to fuck me senseless,” I said to him. Nico laughed in response.

“If I must,” he said, teasing.

“You must.”

He walked up the stairs ahead of me, our hands tangling in the safety of our little alcove. As he slid the key into our door I tugged at his wrist and pulled him towards me, catching his scent, something mellow and patient as the sea. He was so _good_. Before I could stop myself, I gave him a soft, close-mouthed kiss, to remind him of my love, to ask for whatever forgiveness I needed to. I felt his surprise and pleasure as he kissed me back. My hands found his hips to pull him flush against my front, and within seconds he was moaning into my mouth. Arousal rose quickly, even for us. “Open the door,” I said . He turned the knob and we fell into the room, hastily pulling apart when we noticed the two people who turned towards us from their spot at the window.

The women from our dreams: Andromache and Quynh. Quynh smiled openly at us and Andromache smirked. She knew exactly what we’d been doing on the other side of the door.

“You two,” she said, “have been very difficult to find.”

* * *

“We have been searching for decades,” said Quynh. She sat with her hands folded at the table, her ornately styled black hair and porcelain skin shining even in the dim misty light of the day. She wore a vibrantly colored dress – crimson at the top, changing to butter yellow at the waist, with a sage green and white underskirt from the knees down. A violently violet and blood red jacket completed the look. _She’s very beautiful,_ I thought.

Andromache sat at the other chair, legs splayed out in front of her, arms crossed, wearing an outfit that looked much like my own – brown tunic, trousers, belt. Except for her long braided dark brown hair and softly rounded face, she seemed almost masculine. _Also very beautiful_ , I thought. She pointed at me.

“You – you died far more often than your friend here.” She looked over at Nico and gave him an assessing look before turning her head back to me. “You were easier to track, but you just kept moving. I think we missed you by just a day or two in Kathmandu."

Her voice was oddly flat and brusque, with an accent I could not place: it sounded as if every accent in the world had melted together to produce it. Quynh’s voice, by contrast, was melodic and soft, clearly from this part of the world – very generally.

“I led a less violent life,” Nico acknowledged to Andromache. He stood leaning against the wall, his hands behind his back. I sat on the bed.

“Genova, right? Merchant?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm. Well, I’m sure that you two have quite the story. To go from killing each other to…this.”

Nico and I glanced at each other.

“I suppose we do,” I finally said.

“We would love to hear it, someday,” said Quynh kindly.

“We would love to tell it, someday,” responded Nico. He smiled charmingly at Quynh and she smiled back with no hesitation. The two women seemed so different from each other; a study in contrasts.

“But not now,” I interrupted. “Now, we have questions.”

“I’m sure you do,” said Andromache. She slouched down further on the chair and crossed her fingers behind her head, looking as if she had all the time in the world. I suppose she did. “By all means.”

“How did you find us?”

“Not sure,” she said. “Next question.”

“What do you mean, ‘not sure?’”

“I mean that I do not know. Nicolo found you, didn’t he?” She looked over to where he stood against the wall. “Do you know how you found him?” she asked.

“No,” he responded.

“There you go,” she turned back to me and raised her jaw with something like defiance. “Next question.”

“Why us?” came Nico’s question. She turned to look at him and smiled cannily, showing teeth.

“No idea,” she said.

“Do you know anything?” I asked.

"Yusuf..." sighed Nico. I knew the tone; it reminded me immediately of Fatima with Amir. It meant, _I love you but you should stop talking._

“I’m sure I know more than you do, Yusuf,” she said with some bite. Then, she sighed and her demeanor changed entirely, the challenge that ran through every line in her body melting away. She brought her hands to her lap and began to pick at her nails, a nervous habit I never would have pegged her to have. When she spoke next it was noticeably softer. “But I don’t know anything about how we came to be, or why we’re chosen – or _if_ we’re chosen - or what we are, or when we will die. I know a lot. But I don’t understand much.” Her sentiments so clearly mirrored my own thoughts over the years – _I know a lot of things, but I don’t understand any of it –_ that I was momentarily startled. It hit me, then, that despite our somewhat contentious conversation, she was one of only three other people in the world who understood the most profound part of my life, and that I therefore ultimately understood her too, for all her unknowns.

Nico straightened up against the wall and looked to me.

“ _When_ we will die?” he prompted. Andromache opened her mouth to speak, but Quynh interrupted her.

“There was another one of us,” she said in her musical voice. “Lykon.”

“Was?” I asked.

“Was,” said Andromache flatly. “He died. A long time ago.”

“How?” asked Nico. He now openly stared at me and it took a valiant effort not to go to him. I knew what he was thinking. We had _just_ been fighting about this.

“He died in battle. One day, his wounds did not heal. We don’t know why.”

“It was his time,” murmured Andromache to Quynh. Her eyes shone and it suddenly occurred to me that they, too, loved each other, perhaps even in the same way Nicolo and I did.

“It was his time,” Quynh agreed, with a sad little smile directed back at Andromache, who sighed and turned to look at us.

“So, there’s one thing we can tell you, at least. One day, your wounds will stop healing, and you will die. Permanently.”

Everything in the room suddenly fell into relief, strangely sharp and _real_. Here I stood, a Muslim man who lived half a world away from where his mother was buried, in a room he rented with his male Christian lover, staring at two women who had – there was no other word for it – _magically_ found him, and who had lived for who knew how long, and would live for who knew how long. I looked over to my beloved, who stared back at me mournfully. Dust motes floated in the gray light around him. _One day, he will die._ The reality of it was somehow unreal and I felt foolish in the extreme: Of _course_ we would die, one day. Everything that lived; would die.

Our endless, numbered days.

Andromache must have felt the shift in mood, because she said, “It isn’t all bad news. Before you die you’ll be able to experience more than anyone ever has and see the entire world, many times over.”

“How much have you seen of the world?” asked Nico.

“Most of it,” said Andromache to him. “I have been to places that do not yet exist on a map.”

“How old _are_ you?” I interjected.

“Old,” she responded, with finality.

“And you?” I asked Quynh.

“Less old,” Andromache answered for her, “but not by much.”

“Do you not know how long you’ve been alive?” I asked her incredulously.

“I do not. I was alone for a long time before I found Quynh. There was no one to help me keep track of the time passing. The years begin to blend together, after long enough, especially if you’re not paying attention,” she said, peering up at me from her seat. “You’ll see.”

* * *

I shut the door behind Andromache and Quynh as they left, and sank to my knees against it. I let my head fall back heavily to smack into the wood behind me and stretched my arms out over my knees. _That was overwhelming_ , I thought. From the corner of my eye I watched Nico walk over and then sink down to sit in the same position next to me against the door.

“Well,” he said. He said nothing else.

“Well,” I agreed. He turned his head to look at me, those unfathomably colored eyes gazing into mine.

“Is it too soon to say ‘I told you so’?” His lips quirked up infinitesimally at the sides when I huffed out a surprised laugh.

“I suppose not. You did.”

He took my left hand and drew it into his, staring at our intertwined hands in his lap, growing serious again.

“Knowing that we can die...” he paused and sighed deeply, his fingers squeezed mine, “know that we _will_ die,” he corrected, “it makes everything more precious.” I waited for him to continue; he obviously had more to say. “We have been given a gift, you and I. So far we have wasted it, floating around aimlessly, helping governments in their shady dealings. My sister, she told me to do good.” He looked up at me again. “I believe that with Andromache and Quynh we might be able to.”

He was referring to their offer to begin traveling with them – apparently they had plans to go into the Mongol empire, where they'd heard rumors of a power hungry warlord with a tendency to eliminate entire villages instead of just his enemies. I had dismissed it outright – why would we leave our home? Nicolo had told them that we would discuss it.

“What about what we have here?” I asked him. “You would leave our home? The girls? Our life?”

“I would miss the girls. But, Yusuf, they will be all right. They have a father and mother who love them, they have money and power, and they are _happy_. We could be helping those who are helpless. Take swords for the innocent, _protect_ people. Isn’t that what we agreed to, in Baghdad?”

I remembered that day in the bath house, tempting him to stay with me by saying we could do more good together. I had meant it, but also… “Nico, you were naked and looking at me like I was the very devil when I said that. I would have said _anything_ to keep you with me.”

He snorted in response. “Liar. You are a good person, Yusuf Al-Kaysani.”

I sighed. “I think, perhaps, that I am a fine person, but that you make me want to be good. If I am good, it is only because of you.”

“No,” he responded. He threaded our fingers together before drawing our intertwined hands up to his mouth. He kissed each one of my fingers. “No, you are a good man. The most wonderful man I have ever met.” He dropped our hands and turned to me, put his palms on my cheeks. His gaze caught mine and his eyes were deadly serious, yet soft – Nicolo summed up in one singular expression. “We would perhaps still be killing each other, in some field outside of Jerusalem, if you had not stopped it. I am certain that I would have killed you again and again if you had not so thoroughly confounded me with your disinterest in hurting me. You then helped me get home. I am sure you have done so much more without me nearby. You have peace in your heart, my love. You want to help people – even if they have recently slain you.”

“That’s different, Nico, you know that.”

“Hush. It is not.” He kissed me softly and I closed my eyes at the sensation. “We do not have to make a decision now,” he said against my lips.

“What should we do instead?” I asked, and I felt him smile.

“What did you say before? You wanted me to ‘fuck you senseless?’” I laughed; it had been a ridiculous thing to say. “We can start with that.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the continued kudos and comments! As every fan-fiction writer says (because it is very true) - they give me life.

**Nicolo**

I did not fuck Yusuf senseless after Andromache and Quynh left. Instead, we picked ourselves up off the ground and decided to go into the city, desirous of remembering the similarities we shared with humanity instead of lingering upon our essential difference.

Initially, that plan did not go well. As we entered the bustling square, we were dismayed to both experience a hazy feeling of disconnection from our fellow man. Here was a woman laughing with her friends. She should be dead in a few years. There was a child, playing with a hoop. He would grow old. He would have sixty or so years, and then – he would die. And so on.

Our conversation with the women had profoundly affected us; something about speaking with them had made both of us realize that _this was real_. We were immortal, or very close to it. One day, we might not know our age like Andromache did not. My sister, and her children, and Yusuf’s brothers, and our childhood friends – they still lived. We were still connected, and still experienced time as every other human experienced it. Though we had not aged, we were only now reaching a standard human lifetime. But in only a few decades, everyone who knew us during our first fifty-odd years would be gone, and we would be untethered from what was normal, and we would have no one but each other.

It was a difficult thing to comprehend.

So, instead, we focused on distracting ourselves with the world. We went downstairs to the noodle shop beneath our rooms. We drank tea and split a dozen pork dumplings and cheered the fact that we would apparently never go to fat. We marveled over Andromache and Quynh’s looks and wondered if this gift was only bestowed upon the very beautiful and congratulated ourselves for being included in such a group. We wandered through the square and watched fire breathers – “We should learn to do that,” Yusuf said – and acrobats. We walked along the river for hours, the darkness hiding our clasped hands. We collapsed into bed and held each other through the night; every fitful time I awoke I would feel his breathing against the back of my neck and his leg entangled with mine and the bones of his fingers threaded through my own. I would drift off again, knowing that I was safe.

* * *

The next morning I was awoken by a kiss to my forehead. Yusuf was already out of bed, even though the sun had barely begun to rise. Sleep muddled, it took me a long moment to remember that he had promised to get my favorite red bean baos from a stall across town. They usually ran out within a few hours. He murmured that he loved me and then left our rooms, closing the door quietly behind him.

I lay there for a long time, thinking about everything and nothing, watching the light from the windows slowly make its way into our room, creeping along the floorboards to gradually illuminate the space.

 _I should pray_.

The thought startled me – I had stopped bending my knees in prayer months ago, the terror at my burgeoning relationship with Yusuf had frightened me too much. Though I spoke to God often enough, I had a superstitious sort of fear that if I were to actually _pray_ , to open my mind up to Him, that He might not like what He found, and worryingly, that I might not like what I found either. But I had made my choice: Yusuf’s love instead of God’s, and I did not wish to renege on that decision ever again.

But the thought stayed with me, a sliver that would not be expelled. So, I knelt before the warm light crawling in from the window and lifted my face up to its radiance. I began with the first prayer that came to mind.

“Soul of Christ, sanctify me-“

I paused, surprised to find that Latin was difficult to surface, no longer like a native tongue; Arabic came more naturally. But Latin was how I learned it, and Latin was how it would be communicated.

“Body of Christ, save me

Blood of Christ, inebriate me

Water from the side of Christ, wash me

Passion of Christ, strengthen me

O good Jesus hear me.”

I hesitated at this point – there was more to the prayer but I felt, somehow, that I already had His attention; the shimmering morning air seemed anticipatory.

“It has been some time since I have prayed like this, and I hope that You can forgive me for that. I hope, too, that You can forgive me for how I speak to You now. I come to you as a penitent, I suppose, but also as someone whom You have perhaps chosen to…” I trailed off and laughed; it was insane to talk to God like this, surely I angered Him with my carefree conversation; God was not a _friend_ , and yet… “to live. To help people, perhaps. Or, at least, that is how I choose to interpret this…whatever this is.”

 _Thank Him for Yusuf,_ I thought. By thinking it, He already knew, but it felt cowardly not to voice it.

“I thank you for bringing me Yusuf, and pray that he is part of Your plan, too, because I love him. Of course, You know that by now. Perhaps I consign myself to hell with this, but I feel” - I breathed in shakily – “I feel it may be worth it.” The light from the window had continued to creep towards me during my ridiculous prayer; the line of light touching my knees, then up to my clasped hands, and finally bathing my face in its golden radiance. I looked up at the blinding light from the window and felt the full weight of all of my time on this earth so far – of all of my years of doubt and worry – and how I had been lightened immeasurably by Yusuf’s love. I was happier, _better_ , now that I had accepted it, and returned it to him.

“I love him,” I said again, stronger this time, defiant. The sentence hung shining in the air like the sun blazed in the sky, a constant, necessary source of visible delight. Calm flooded me, and there was a moment of utter completeness; a moment that felt as if God understood and did not care, that our love was love regardless of our sexes. The moment suspended and then ended, and with it, went any lingering shame or fear. The light illuminated our room, and peace such as I had barely felt outside of Yusuf’s arms suffused me.

The floorboard creaked behind me.

“Nicolo,” sighed Yusuf. I turned; he stood in the doorway. The gentle look on his face told me that he had heard and seen enough. I smiled at him.

“Were you able to get to the baos in time?”

He lifted the bag he carried to show me his success. “I was.” He dropped the sack carelessly on the table and then walked over to me, sinking to the floor, mirroring my position. He offered his hand to me and I took it in my own, turning it over and observing. I felt his gaze on my face but could not look up; I felt somehow embarrassed by what he had seen. Instead I contemplated our clasped hands; idly feeling the softness of his palm and the roughness of his fingers, the warmth and weight of his palm.

“Nico.” I looked up, and he held my gaze for a long moment, our connection blazing to life as it always did.

 _Kiss me_ , I thought. I rubbed my thumb over his knuckles and watched his lips part slightly. Freeing my fingers from his grasp, I drew them up his arm, pushing back the sleeve of his tunic until it was bunched in the crook of his elbow, revealing tanned skin for me to discover. It felt somehow like new terrain. He stayed still as a statue, his eyes trained on my fingers as they trailed the map of veins both below and above the muscle. He exhaled shakily and I looked back up to his face, which showed a new and fascinating expression: Hesitation. As if he had never been invited to kiss me before, let alone to enter my body, or had plead for me to do the same. His eyes darted between mine, his tongue darted out to wet his lips, but he did not move. I reached out and laid my hand at the pulse point on the side of his neck and watched it jump under my touch. I traced his features with my fingertips; his dark eyebrows and gently sloped nose, the faint lines at the corner of his eyes and the soft skin of his lips. All the while, his eyes stayed on my face.

“You are so beautiful,” I murmured.

“I feel that way, when you look at me.”

“Kiss me,” I said.

He drew closer, laid a palm against my neck, and pressed his lips to mine. I sighed into the kiss; feeling, somehow, like it was the first time. The light from the sun caressed our faces and I thought something I had thought many times before, but this time – this time – I knew to be true: This was divine. When we touched, we also touched the divine, and the divine touched us. The relief from earlier came flooding back, and I felt dizzy with it; for the first time there was no shame, no guilt, only _joy._ The smile on my lips spread to his own.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“I heard,” he responded.

I resumed kissing him, gently, exploring his mouth with each hot slide of my tongue, deeper and deeper until I felt hunger rise in him, the hand against my neck holding me firmly in place. I clutched at his head, gripped his curls tightly, feeling light headed with longing for him. I climbed into his lap and felt his cock hard against me, stiff and unmistakable. I slipped my hand between us and grasped it. He moaned into my mouth, then gasped and buried his head against my neck when I began to draw my hand up and down.

“Take off your clothes,” I whispered into his ear. He nodded and leaned away from me, peeling off his tunic so that he was bared to the waist. As always, I marveled at the muscles his nakedness revealed, distracted immediately from my goal of his complete nakedness by only his partial nudity.

“How lucky you are to look like this for an eternity,” I mused. He laughed, revealing straight white teeth. “Even your teeth are lovely.” He grinned at that, showing both rows. I trailed my finger across the top and he playfully bit at it, his gaze darting over mine. _I really think it will be possible to love this man until the end of time,_ I thought. Something of my wonder must have shown on my face because his expression grew hot and determined. He parted his lips and took mine forcefully. It was my turn to moan, as I welcomed his aggression, reveled in the slick heat of his tongue and the hands that now pulled at my hair. He was restless beneath me now, his hips pumping subtly between my spread legs. Reaching down between us he pulled my tunic up and off so that I was naked in his lap. He continued to kiss me as he pushed me back onto the floor; I kept my legs wrapped around his hips even in the shift in positions. His hand fisted at my hair again, too tight, and the violence in it made me feel wild and hot – my hands shot down to fumble at his trousers, desperate to remove them. We broke apart briefly so he could kick and shove until they lay in a heap below us. We came back together immediately, kissing deeply, punctuated only by our soft groans and hitching breaths.

Yusuf broke away suddenly. His breathing deepened and steadied, and he cradled my head in his hands.

“Why have you stopped?” I asked, raising my lips to his and trying to tempt him back into kissing me. He smiled and nipped at my lips.

“Why are you smiling?” I asked.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he responded. I felt a blush coming on. From his vantage point just on top of me he watched the pink spread across my cheeks.

“I love all of your colors,” he murmured. He lowered his head and laid his tongue across my neck, licking up to my jawline in one long stripe before continuing, sending shivers down my spine. “Your skin is so gloriously pale; it’s the perfect canvas for all of your shades. The pink of your lips and the brown of this perfect imperfection.” He kissed the spot to the left of my mouth. “And your _eyes_ , Nico. I expect to spend eternity trying and failing to get the color just right.” His eyes stared into mine; I could tell he was cataloguing whatever he saw there. “In this light, they’re as blue as the Mediterranean, and the way they shine…” he trailed off, still staring into my eyes. “They were the first thing I ever noticed about you, your eyes. They were this shade the first time you killed me.”

“Yusuf…” I did not wish to relive that part of our past just then.

“Until I knew your name, you were just the blue-eyed man.” I closed my eyes and he kissed my eyelids. “And you are still my blue-eyed man. But all of your other colors… you are so much more. Everything.” I opened my eyes and saw his serious, soft expression hovering just above mine. “You are everything to me.”

I surged up and kissed him hard; his surprised moan was my reward. I was hungry for him, his words, as ever, arousing me just as surely as his touch.

“You’re everything to me too, love. Now, give me everything.” He chuckled.

“The return of my greedy Nico,” he said.

“Indeed. I want you.”

“I want _you_ ,” he murmured.

“Then take me,” I responded, stroking his sides eagerly, feeling the muscle and bone, wanting to urge him on. “Show me,” I whispered. He caught his breath and snaked a hand between us to where our erections lay against one another, clasping us together and stroking. I looked down and had to close my eyes at the wave of lust that washed over me. Like that, it was hard to tell who was who. He continued for a few more long moments and then sat back on his heels. He coaxed me onto my side and then lay behind me, my back to his front, how we slept most nights, now. He lifted my leg slightly so he could slide his cock between my thighs and thrust softly as his hand slid around and down to grasp my own cock. When I gasped, he bit down gently at the back of my neck. I sucked in a breath and arched my back, reaching behind me to pull at his hair as he stroked.

“Tell me more,” I said.

“Mmmm. About what, my beloved?” I groaned in frustration – he knew. “You want me to tell you about how badly I want to fuck you?”

 _Yes_. But I said: “Tell me whatever you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking that I’ll never want anyone as badly as I want you. Love anyone the way I love you.” He tongued and then bit my ear. “I’m thinking that your smile makes me weak, and that I want to make you come harder than you ever have. That there is nothing better than this.” He fisted my hair and teethed at my arched neck. “That I want to slide into you so that we can share one body as we share one soul.” My shocked laugh at his words turned into a moan when his hand crept up to press against the front of my throat.

“I may become accustomed to immortality before I become accustomed to the things you say.” I felt his smile behind me.

“As you’ve said.” His circled fingers began to race along my cock, using my wetness to ease the way. The sudden pleasure caused my thighs to clench, squeezing his cock tight. A bite landed where my neck and shoulder met, the sting of his teeth and his thrusting between my legs making me feel delirious. He stopped suddenly.

“Wait here,” he said. I stayed still, watched him retrieve the oil from where it lay tangled in our sheets. When he came back, he went to his knees and contemplated my form while unstoppering the vial. I detected a phantom aroma of balsam, filling my head with more of that holy feeling from earlier. _Touch the divine and the divine touches us,_ I thought again, and smiled.

“What are you thinking?” Yusuf asked as he poured oil into his cupped palm. My covetous eyes watched as he drew his wet palm to his cock and slowly stroked himself, the gesture unbearably elegant. Something about the movement of his forearms and fingers called to mind an artist’s confident strokes at a canvas…and he had just called my skin a canvas.

“Oh, many things,” I finally responded.

“Such as?” he prompted. I reached forward and placed my palm on his cock, but only to steal some of the lubrication for myself. He groaned when I rolled onto my back and began to touch myself.

“That you’re an artist, and that you called my skin canvas, and that it follows you might wish to paint my skin.”

“In what way?”

I just looked at him and raised one of my eyebrows ever so slightly, waiting for him to comprehend.

“Oh,” he said, looking slightly shocked. Then he smiled wolfishly and braced his artist’s arms at my shoulders, moving his hips to place his cock at my entrance.

“I’ll bear it in mind,” he said. He slid in slow and deep, at just the right angle to draw a deep moan from me. His soft gasp drew my attention to his face, and the expression there made me offer up another prayer of thanks to God. He settled more firmly inside of me and it felt like the most natural act possible, one preordained to happen from the moment his sword had split me open in the battlefield. This was _right._ Yusuf must have felt something of it too, because he whispered, “I’m so glad you chose me.”

“Chose you?” He drew out slowly and then eased back in, the slight friction delicious.

“Over God. I don’t know what I would have done…” he trailed off, apparently overwhelmed. I placed a palm at his cheek and held his gaze, trying to fend off the rising tide of pleasure so that I could get this right.

“I think that God and I came to an understanding, earlier. You and I have always said it feels divine to be with one another.” He nodded. “I believe it is, actually. Divine. We are devoted to one another in love, as He commanded us to be. It’s as you’ve said: Our love is how God shows us his own.” His answering smile was radiant.

“I love you more than words can say,” he said. He still eased in and out of me.

“Even your words?” I asked.

“Even those.”

“Then show me.” I loved every inch of his skin, his smell, his sounds, his words, everything. I wanted everything this wonderful man could give me.

He balanced on one strong arm and planted his knees wider before grabbing my hip and tilting me up slightly. The change in position changed the tone; his strokes now aggressive, bringing him deeper into my body and making me rock against the floorboard. I said nothing as I felt a splinter enter my back – it would be out shortly, anyways, and I didn’t want anything to stop him from this darker turn. With each stroke I felt he was claiming me, and it set my blood to boil.

“This is how I love you,” he said, his normally placid brown eyes almost black with desire. “I want to give you everything. I can’t possibly get deep enough inside of you.”

I reached down and pulled up from behind my knees, shifting myself so that he could get that much deeper. His eyes shut and he moaned. He shifted to his elbows and threaded his hands through my hair, clutching at my head and driving his hips into me, and I welcomed all of it. _Take whatever you want_ , I thought, _I’ll give it willingly._

I knew by now how he liked to be touched – rough and greedy, demanding – he still craved some physical proof that I loved him. _It’s too bad, really, that we can’t leave lasting marks._ This was the driving thought behind the bite.

“ _Ah_.” He drew back and placed his fingers at his lips, looked at the blood that shone on the tips. He shuddered and shut his eyes. “Do that again,” he said. His hips never stopped moving. He stuck his thumb in my mouth. “Go on.”

I sucked hard on this thumb before baring my teeth and sinking down into the skin, applying more and more pressue until I tasted the salty warmth of his blood – not a pleasant taste, but the knowledge of what I’d done made that fact irrelevant. Lust suffused me. Yusuf reacted just the way I’d hoped – a low moan and jagged breath, a stutter of his hips before he sank even deeper. The power shifted, just like that. He pulled his thumb from my lips and we watched as the little wound healed over.

“You liked that,” I said. It wasn’t a question. He dropped his head and nodded against my neck in response.

“You like what I can do to you.” I gathered his hair in my hands and pulled back as hard as I could, so that his neck arced backwards. It looked painful, but he did not look pained. The opposite.

“Yes.” He hissed it, more than said it. “I’m so close, Nico.” I felt and saw the truth in those words in his deep strokes and the pulse in his neck. I pulled at his hair again, urging him on; it felt like I couldn’t take him roughly enough. “Make me come, Nicolo, _please-“_. Keeping one hand gripped tight in his hair, I placed the other around his throat – something I like well enough but always seemed to drive him mad. I pressed up and he pressed down and I caught his wild gaze.

“Come,” I commanded. He did, with a disbelieving moan, long and drawn out, his muscles locking up with the intensity of it. I watched as he came back to himself, his muscles unclenching and his eyes staring at mine with wonder.

“Fuck,” he said. Then, “You haven’t come.”

“I haven’t,” I confirmed. He pulled out of me and sank immediately down onto my cock, his lips stopping at the halfway point.

“Deeper,” I moaned, more of an order than a plea. He took more, hungrily sucking hard.

“Yes, like that, just like that.” I looked down at him spoiling me, ruining me for anyone else’s touch, as long as we both might live. It was that – that utter, bone-deep realization that no one could possibly make me feel the way Yusuf did every day – that tipped me over the edge. For long moments there was nothing but his groans and his tongue and his throat sucking me down as the world unraveled.

I lay there panting as he pulled off with a soft moan and came up on shaky hands to collapse next to me.

“Do you think God approves of everything we just did?” he eventually asked, with a sly smile. I laughed, and rolled over to drape myself around him.

“I hope He averted His eyes for some of it,” I said, kissing at his shoulder. We lay there until our breathing gradually became steadier, and I let my mind wander, thinking of everything we’d gone through to get here, and everything that might await. “I love you,” I finally said.

“I know,” he responded. “I love you too.”

After a few more quiet moments, he stretched and dressed and told me he was running to get water from the pump so we could clean ourselves. I kissed him and grabbed a towel, then went over to the bag of now-cool baos. _Damn_ , I thought. But I would take _any_ sex with Yusuf – let alone the mind-meltingly erotic sex that we had just had – over a warm bao. I ate it, staring out the window into the square outside. After a few minutes it occurred to me that he had been gone for longer than I would have expected him to be. I told myself he’d be back shortly and tried to preoccupy myself with translating a poem I’d been working on. After a few more minutes of distracted decoding and still no sign of Yusuf, I was concerned enough to put on clothes and walk down to the courtyard. I still told myself not to worry – Yusuf was likely just having a conversation with a neighbor. _He’s so much more charming than you are, after all._ It was when I saw our bucket, turned over and empty of water, that concern began to grow. _Perhaps he’d gone into the square for something_. Trying to ignore the now rapid thumping of my heart, I walked out of the entrance to our courtyard and into the bustle of the city. I focused on looking for curling black hair – a rarity in Kaifeng – but saw none. I walked the perimeter, my mouth increasingly dry. After an hour of searching, I went back to our rooms. He still wasn't there.

He was gone.


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags on this one - specifically "canon-typical violence". 
> 
> If you're not into that you can skip from 'Something red-hot..." and pick back up at “Now, let’s see what happens.” It's all the way at the end of the chapter.

**Yusuf**

_God, it smells strongly of ginger. Is the shop cooking every fucking piece at the same time?_

“We should have waited! Qiu, you fucking idiot, we have nowhere to take him!”

_Why is the bed so uncomfortable?_

“I saw an opportunity, and I took it. It’s fine, Li. Huang wanted him alive and that’s what he’ll get.”

_Huang…_

“My brother in law wants him out, right now. How are we going to get him out? And _don’t_ say roll him up in a rug.”

“Well it worked before…”

“ _No,_ Qiu.”

I cracked open my eyes and my vision swam as I took in the piles of vegetables all around me; mounds of bok choi and eggplants, mushrooms stacked waist high, garlic hanging from the ceiling, and the mountain of knobbly ginger I laid upon. The air was stale; the light very poor. My head hurt like hell, but the pain was fading rapidly. I felt rope around my wrists.

_Why am I tied up in a storage room?_

“He’s probably still out, we should move him now.”

“I _know_ that, but where?”

 _You were getting water. You were getting water because you and Nico had just fucked. He’d been talking to God. He’d chosen you. You’d gotten his favorite red bean baos._ _Your head hurts. You turned because you heard footsteps right behind you._ Right. The two men arguing must have hit my head hard enough that I’d been knocked unconscious. But why?

“We take him to Huang’s,” said one of the arguing men. They were just outside the room.

“So, what, we just show up with a man wrapped up in a rug and knock on his front door?”

“Do you have a better idea?” There was a prolonged silence.

“No.”

“All right then.”

The door opened and the two men walked in. We locked eyes. “Oh,” said the man in front.

“How’s he already awake?” asked the man behind.

They approached me cautiously – but not cautiously enough. They’d left my legs untied, so when the first man got close enough I slammed into his knee with my foot. He fell to the floor, howling in pain. The other man pulled out a knife; it flashed even in the dim light, lethally sharp.

“Don’t do that again,” he threatened, before he glanced at the other man. “Li, are you all right?” Li nodded that he was, but his face told a different story.

“Who the fuck are you?” I asked.

“Who the fuck are _you_?” he responded. I said nothing, my mind rapidly grasping for a plan. The shifting ginger would make getting to my feet a problem, and I didn’t have my sword, but maybe I could sweep his legs out and grab his knife…

The man with the blade inched closer, never taking his eyes from me, while his partner started to stand, cautiously putting weight on his leg. He hissed with pain and the sound distracted my erstwhile attacker enough for him to look at the crouched man. _Now or never_. I kicked at the man with the knife; he lost his balance. He stepped on a piece of ginger that rolled from under his foot and fell directly on top of me, the knife plunging into my chest.

“Fuck!” I yelled. _That fucking hurt._ I looked down to where the knife stuck out; the flesh was already beginning to heal around it. I could feel the sharp edges of the knife pushing out – it hurt just as much coming out. I thought wildly, _Thank God that isn’t a mortal wound; how embarrassing to die because someone tripped on some fucking ginger._ I’d never hear the end of it.

Qiu leapt off of me and exchanged a frightened glance with Li. I laughed at their expressions.

“That’s right,” I said. “Kill me and I’ll come right back. Hurt me and I’ll heal. You two are dead.”

“You’ll come right back?” asked Li. He was staring as the knife came out of me and clattered to the ground. He had a too-canny look on his face; I immediately realized my mistake. He was on me in a flash, the knife through my throat before I had a chance to defend against it. “Tell Yan we need opium,” was the last thing I heard before the world faded to black.

* * *

My mother was in my room at home and asked me to give her a robe, for hers was blood-stained. I told her that what she wore was beautiful, as it had been created of love. “I suppose that is true,” she responded, and touched my hand. She was cold and covered in dirt and I knew she had come from her grave.

“You are happy, my dear?” she asked and I told her yes. My brother was there, too, and he said, “Would you like to see what you have done to our mother?” I told him no and he replied no matter, he would show me now, and bent her neck so I could see the bloody hole at the crown of her head. I put my hand to it and he laughed. Nicolo was there but he was entirely silent, or, if he said anything, I cannot recall what it was.

* * *

“Do you feel pain?” The voice came from very far away – from heaven, or from hell. Perhaps the past or future, who could say. Andromache and Quynh were from the past, but in the present. One day we would be in the future. Anything is possible.

I felt a slap at my face and moaned.

“Can you hear me?”

I tried to nod, but my head was far too heavy. How had I ever nodded before?

“How much did you give him?” The voice sounded urgent. Other people were talking but I could not understand; their language was too jarring. I missed the melodious sounds of my mother singing in the desert, the harmony of Nicolo’s voice with mine. Nicolo, my love.

_Where am I?_

Wooden walls, wooden floor, no vegetables this time. A man above me. Huang. _Found him_ , _Amir,_ I thought deliriously.

“I think he’s coming around.”

 _If I’m coming around, turn me back_ , I thought. I could sense pain on the other side of this hazy heavy comfort.

“What is your name?”

I said nothing. The floating sensation was beginning to ebb away.

“Listen to me. I do not wish to cause you pain. Tell me your name.”

“Fuck off,” I muttered.

He stood up and walked to the door. “I’ll come back when you’re feeling more amenable,” he said to me, and then to Li and Qiu, who stood off to the side looking nervous, “Make sure he doesn’t get out. And gag him, I can’t have my wife hearing anything.” He swept from the room.

* * *

Many hours later, he came back.

“Do you feel like talking now?” he asked me, as if he were asking my thoughts on today’s weather. I had a thick rope in my mouth so I said nothing.

“Ah, the gag. I apologize.” Qiu moved to untie it but Huang stopped him with a gesture. “We’ll leave it, for now.” He walked over to stand next to the cot where I was tied and crouched down before looking me in the eyes. “I am sorry that we’ve had to leave you like this, but my friends told me that you were most recalcitrant earlier.” His gaze raked down my body, pausing for a moment at my chest. “You’re probably wondering why you’re here?” I still said nothing, but of course, I was. “Apparently you were present at the explosion at the marketplace last week. A colleague saw your miraculous recovery from death. I was extremely intrigued.” _Perhaps he doesn’t know that we followed him for weeks?_ The chance of that seemed small, but not impossible.

He paused and looked at the rope in my mouth. “I meant what I said, earlier. I don’t wish to cause you pain. I have questions for you, and I hope that you’ll submit to a few simple tests, but then you can be on your way. Li and Qiu were simply overzealous. I hope you can forgive us.” I looked over at Li and Qiu, who still had murder in their eyes; somehow I thought that they were not sorry. But I nodded _yes_.

“Good,” he said. “I’ll remove the gag.” True to his word, he reached behind my head and untied the rope. My swollen tongue and bleeding lips immediately began to heal, once the constant rubbing was gone.

“So it’s true,” Huang whispered, watching it happen. “Can one of you please bring tea for our nameless friend?” he asked over his shoulder. His gaze did not move from my mouth. My mind whirred with options. Huang seemed to be genuine, but I could not trust him; after all, his hired hands – whatever Li and Qiu were – had knocked me out, stabbed me, _killed me_ and then drugged me. And he would be a fool to simply let me go.

"I'd like to know what to call you," he said. When I said nothing, he sighed. "You may call me Huang." I still did not respond. 

"Introductions are over then, so I suppose we should skip to questions." His head tilted with curiosity. “Can you control it?”

“No,” I whispered. My voice was scratchy from disuse.

“Are there others like you?”

“No.” _He can never find out about the others._

“How far does this power extend? If I were to cut off your arm, what would happen?”

“Please don’t,” I responded quickly, and he laughed with genuine good humour.

“I don’t mean to frighten you. I mean, has something like that happened? Would the arm grow back?”

“I…that has never happened.”

“But you cannot die?”

I hesitated. Chess was not a strong suit; thinking steps ahead of the opponent not something that came naturally. And I was so tired: I had not had food or drink since I’d been taken. I decided to go with some version of the truth; it was simpler.

“I can die. I come back.”

“You are reborn as yourself, exactly as you are?”

“I suppose.”

“Fascinating.” He contemplated my form for a few quiet moments. “Were you born with this gift?”

Just then, Li re-entered the room with a pot of tea and two cups. He set both down on the ground next to Huang, who busied himself with pouring. Finally, he raised the glass up to my mouth.

“Please, drink,” he said. “I imagine that even for one such as yourself, thirst is a painful experience.”

He helped me raise my head and put the cup to my lips. The stone was cool and the tea was hot; my parched throat was immediately refreshed. It tasted terrible. I drank the entire cup.

“So?” he prompted.

“I don’t know.”

“When did you know, then?”

“The first time I was killed.”

“And when was that?”

Again, I hesitated, some part of my mind innately understanding that it would only make me more interesting if he knew that I did not age.

“A few years ago. I was a guard for a caravan – bandits.”

He nodded with understanding, and then poured another cup of tea.

“Another one?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said; I hadn’t realized how dehydrated I was. He helped me drink again. I swallowed.

“Good. Now, I’d like to get started on the tests – with your permission of course.”

My head began to feel loose inside; warmth rising from somewhere deep in my chest and spreading out all along my limbs. Belatedly I realized: I had been drugged again. Of course - _what a fool_ , I thought, _to accept drink from a man who holds you hostage_ , but whatever they'd drugged me with kept me from irritation at my stupidity. _You were thirsty, he offered something to slake your thirst. It was a reasonable error._

I tried to say _you do not have my permission_ to Huang, but nothing came out.

“I’ll assume your permission with your silence,” he said, “and I thank you for it.” He clapped his hands together and resumed in a businesslike manner, as if outlining the merits of some wares. “Now! You’re going to feel very tired, you may not be able to move, and you may lose consciousness – you drank quite a lot – but please do not panic. This is all to help you.”

My heart began to race. I tried to struggle against the ropes, but my limbs were too heavy, and even without the drug running through my system they were far too tight to escape from. He put his hand on my chest to try and calm my jerking movements.

“I told you, my friend, I don’t want to cause you pain. You’ll feel very little – hopefully none at all. If you do, I sincerely apologize; it is not my intention to do so.” He smiled as if I were an old friend, and then the poppy swept me away.

* * *

I watched the mud from my skin slough into the water, great brown clouds blooming in the slow moving river. It was freezing, but if I went into it with one great gasp, the iciness seemed less. I lay back and floated, lowering my head beneath the surface until my face was an island peeking above the horizon of the softly lapping water. I stared up at the leaves overhead, warm and glowing in the afternoon light, and thought of Nicolo di Genova. I wondered if the blue-eyed man did likewise, if he ever thought of me because he could not help it.

I felt a tug at my arm that hurt, but was then gone. I looked down and saw that I was bleeding from a deep cut in my arm, bleeding far too much, but it was all right. Surely if I were in danger it would hurt more? Something was pushed to my lips and I drank, and the river began to rise over my head and over the banks, overflowed up, up, up, and I thought _I will drown_ , but could not move, the whole of the earth would be covered in water soon but I could not move, and as the water filled my lungs I thought that the touch of the river was sensuous, that it would hold my body in its soft, loving embrace.

* * *

When I gasped back to life, another cup was immediately at my lips. I tried not to drink but the liquid was in my mouth before I could stop it and the choice became to drown or to drink. My body reflexively chose the option that would keep me alive.

“I am so sorry, my friend!” said Huang, with yet another of his genuine smiles, as if he had not just killed me. “So sorry. We were a bit overzealous just then, but you’re back now. We took some of your blood but it seemed to hurt you, so I tried to get you to drink more of the poppy and you breathed it instead of swallowing. What a mistake!” He grinned, as if it were amusing. There was something deeply wrong with the man, that he could smile at me in such a way.

Unsure of what to say, I held my tongue.

“Now, I keep thinking about your arm. What would happen if it were cut off.”

Something of my fear must have showed on my face because he immediately said, “I keep doing that! No, I don’t want to cut off your arm – but I was thinking, what about a tooth? If I took a tooth, would it grow back? That seems like a good compromise, wouldn’t you agree?”

The opium began to take hold, I felt that I was dreaming again but I knew that I was awake. Qiu was able to stuff wadding in my mouth so that I could not shut my jaws; I was too light-headed to realize what was happening. He grabbed my head from behind and held me tight. Huang leaned forward and something metal scraped against the teeth on the right side. I grimaced against the pain.

“We’ve barely begun, my friend, do you need more of the poppy?” came Huang’s concerned voice. Frightened of the dreams they brought on, I nodded, _no_. He looked at me with a kind of gentle grief that I shut my eyes against.

Something red-hot drove deep into the flesh beneath my tooth, and then his fingers were in my mouth, and they tasted terrible, and there was a crunching, snapping sound that seemed to ring through my head. I could taste the blood pouring from the wound.

“Hold him tight Qiu, he’s moving too much.” My head was gripped tighter, then came a cracking that felt as if my jaw was being ripped apart, and a pulse of pain that ripped a miserable moan from my lungs.

“Done.”

Blood ran over my tongue. Huang held the tooth triumphantly above me. I ran my tongue over the ragged hole of its former residence, tasting iron.

“Now, let’s see what happens.” His head drew close to my mouth, training his eyes to the back of my jaw. He breathed out deeply at the same time that I felt the usual sensation of healing taking place. After a few seconds he leaned back and looked at me. Something in his expression made me deeply uneasy.

“It grew back. Right in front of my eyes.” He paused, thinking something over. “My friend, I apologize, but I may need to see what happens with your arm.”


	38. Chapter 38

**Nicolo**

I stood in our room for longer than I should have, trying to make sense of what was happening, working to calm my racing heart. The baos still sat on the table; the oil still lay where it had been dropped to the floor. Our sheets were still tangled from sleep. Yusuf had just been inside of me. Presumably his come was still there. But he was gone. Why?

I knew he would not have left of his own volition – it did not cross my mind. Someone had taken him. But how could I find him? I had no clues, no one I could turn to… Amir, perhaps?

 _Andromache and Quynh._ Of course. Thousands of years of life between them; they were bound to have some ideas, and they’d offered for us to join them, that meant they must be willing to help.

They’d told us where they’d taken rooms. I grabbed my sword and ran out the door.

* * *

“Nicolo!” Quynh smiled as she opened the door. “How lovely to see you again so soon.”

I barreled into the room before she finished speaking. “Yusuf’s gone.”

“Gone?” She turned to me, confusion on her face.

“Please, come in,” said Andromache wryly. I glimpsed her from around the corner.

I paced back and forth. “Yes, gone. He went out to get water, and he didn’t come back.”

Andromache came around the corner. She looked _bored._ “And how long has he been gone?”

“A few hours,” I responded. She just raised her eyebrows, as if to say, _and we should be worried…why?_

“It’s not like him. He would tell me if he were going to go somewhere.”

“And you’re sure he hasn’t…left?”

“Yes! He would never…” I paused. _Calm down Nico, she won’t wish to help you if you yell at her._ I breathed out slowly. “He would never leave me.”

“So sure,” she said, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes while looking me over curiously.

“Andromache.” Quynh placed her hand on the other woman’s arm. “He’s worried. We do not know Yusuf, but Nicolo does. We should listen to him.”

Andromache looked at the smaller hand on her arm and nodded in reluctant agreement. “All right. All right, fine.” She looked back up at me. “What have you been up to since you’ve been in Kaifeng?”

“Working, mainly, we’ve mainly been –“ _constantly fucking_ “-working. We’ve only been here a few weeks.”

“Working?” Andromache prompted.

“Yes. For a…a friend, of sorts. Amir al-Tammar. We traveled with his family to Kaifeng, he’s a…well, I thought that he was a bureaucrat, but he seems to be involved in something else, he asked us to follow someone working on a new weapon-"

Andromache stopped me with an upturned hand. “Nicolo. I’m going to ask this simply: Have you perhaps gotten involved in something that would cause someone to want to hurt you?”

My mind raced. No one saw us, I was certain. We hadn’t even really _done_ much, just taken that one gun, and no one saw us do that. Right?

“No,” I said. “I truly don’t believe so.”

Andromache and Quynh looked at each other, some unspoken communication taking place between the two of them.

“You two died, recently, yes?” This came from Quynh. “We know; it helped us figure out you were in the city, we’d been searching villages for days.”

“Yes. There was an explosion…”

Andromache, now. “Did someone see you die? Perhaps they also saw you come back?”

“No…” I said, but there was no sureness behind it.

“Think, Nicolo. Are you sure?”

_The cart driver. The man with no arm. He saw you._

“Yes.” I sighed heavily. “Yes, I do think someone saw us.”

Quynh went into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

“Where is she going?” I asked.

“To change,” said Andromache. “We’re going to help you find whoever took Yusuf. She can’t wear that dress and fight.”

“How do you know that our dying has anything to do with it?” I asked.

She sat down heavily at the table in the middle of the room and crossed her arms. “That? Being seen coming back to life? It never ends well. Someone mentions it to someone else, who tells their boss, and it goes on up the chain until someone gets too interested. And _that_ person tells the chieftain, or the medicine man, or the fucking king, and they think, ‘I’d love to know how to come back from the dead. Get them!’” She sighed again and put her head in her hands. “It’s happened to both of us before. It will probably happen again. I’m sure that’s what’s happened to Yusuf.”

I crossed the room and sat at the table with her. _Yusuf, taken captive._ I felt pressure behind my eyes, and shut my eyes against the wave of nausea at the thought of him in pain, somewhere away from me. I felt Andromache’s curious gaze on my skin.

“Do you love him?” she asked mildly.

“Yes,” I sighed. I met her gaze. “I do.” I waited for her to say something; her eyes roamed my face and she smiled in a small sort of way.

“We’ll find him,” she said. Steel was in her tone; thousands of years of fighting behind her words. “We will get him back.”

* * *

We began our search in the courtyard of our building, reasoning that it was Yusuf’s last known location. Nothing looked amiss to my untrained eyes. Quynh, though…

“Wasn’t there a rug?” she asked, mere moments after we’d entered.

“A rug?”

“Yes, a rug. Drying.” She pointed to where two lines were strung between one side of the courtyard and the other. Occasionally our neighbors would use it for a large wash, but we’d never had the need to.

“Perhaps?” I struggled to see what the connection could be to Yusuf’s disappearance.

“She’s looking for anything different from when we were here before,” said Andromache from across the courtyard. “We were only here yesterday.”

“And rugs take an extremely long time to dry,” finished Quynh. “Let’s ask your neighbors.”

Before I had a chance to respond, Quynh dashed up the central stairs to the second floor balcony overlooking the courtyard. She knocked on the first door she came across, but there was no answer. By the time she knocked on the second door, I stood behind her. It opened, and a harried looking man I vaguely recognized said “What?” with no small amount of irritation before he noticed the various weapons strapped to our persons. His eyes widened slightly in response and his tone immediately changed. “What can I help you with?” he asked. From behind him came the wails of an infant.

“Hello!” Quynh said brightly. “I know this is a bit odd, but we were wondering if you’d put a rug out to dry a few days ago? One that went missing, perhaps?”

The man nodded and shouted behind him, “Mei! Some people are here asking about the rug.” To us, he said, “One moment.” He turned and walked back into the room. An equally – or perhaps more – harried looking woman with a toddler on her hip came to the door.

“Can I help you?” she asked.

“We’re hoping you can,” Quynh says with a smile. “Seems like you had a rug out to dry that went missing?”

The woman nodded. The toddler put some of her mother’s hair in her mouth and began to munch contentedly.

“Yes. This morning. But it didn’t ‘go missing’, it was stolen. I came out just as they walked away with it.”

“Who walked away with it?” asked Quynh.

“Two men.” She looked between us. “I’m assuming you want to know what they looked like?”

“If you’re able to recall.”

“I am. They were both tall, well-built. Strong.” She lowered her voice and leaned in to Quynh conspiratorially before saying, “Very good-looking.” She then looked at the two of us and glanced below to where Andromache stood with her arms crossed. "And they were both from here, generally speaking. Not like you."

“And the rug? Any chance someone could have been rolled up into it?” Quynh asked. The woman’s eyes widened. “Perhaps,” she said. “It was a large rug, and it did look bigger than I would expect it to, rolled up. And they seemed like they were struggling with it, like it was much heavier than they’d been expecting.”

“Thank you,” Quynh said. She turned and walked away briskly, clattering down the stairs. The woman stared at me, confused.

“Thank you!” I said too, and followed Quynh, who was walking quickly to Andromache. I joined them just as the two women began to walk rapidly to the exit of the courtyard.

As we left, the woman yelled, “If you find my rug, bring it back!”

* * *

As it turned out, the men’s trail was not a difficult one to follow. They had caused enough commotion that a number of people remembered them. The owner of a meat stall told us over the clucking of dozens of caged chickens that he’d seen them drop the rug, and a booted foot had poked out from the bottom.

“They aren’t very good at this, whoever they are,” muttered Andromache.

“Lucky for us,” responded Quynh.

We’d been told that the men with the rug had gone into a grocer’s – they’d noted it because, of course, it was odd to see a rug going into a grocer’s – and we decided before going in that Andromache or myself would distract the owner with questions, and that Quynh should poke around for any clues. Quynh, as was becoming increasingly obvious, was almost preternaturally good at seeing what other people could not.

We entered the little shop. It was dark – just one window set high up on the wall to let light in – and smelled strongly of earth. The vegetables were organized in neat little boxes; I saw mounds of eggplant, watercress, onions and lotus root, and dozens of other vegetables that I did not recognize. There was a short table in the middle of the room, a tall shopkeep standing at it, and a door in the back wall. Andromache and I noticed it at the same time, and both looked to Quynh. Her eyes were glued to it. She knew.

I greeted the shopkeeper and said the first thing that came to my head: “Three bok choi please.”

As he busied himself with getting a bag and walking over to the vegetables at the front of the shop, Quynh walked silently to the back of the store, doing her best to look as if she observed the wares. The man took three bundles of bok choi from their basket, added them to his bag, and began to turn to hand them to me. “And ginger!” I said quickly, so that he would not turn and see Quynh with her hand on the door.

“How much?” he asked. I watched from the corner of my eye as Quynh opened the door and snuck inside.

“Oh, I’m not sure,” I said. I held out my hands to show him an approximate size. “This much?” He looked at me with irritation on every feature.

“For how many people are you cooking?”

“Four,” I said definitively. I watched the door crack open again and Quynh’s hands wrap around the side to push it open.

“Four? I would suggest far less – that amount of ginger is enough to feed an army.”

I laughed. “Well then...whatever you suggest.” Andromache and Quynh shared a quick look and pulled their weapons out, Andromache reaching behind her back for her axe, and Quynh pulling a deadly looking knife from her robes. Obviously, she’d found something in that little storeroom.

The man turned and immediately dropped the bag of vegetables when he saw the women and their weapons.

“What do you want?” His voice trembled.

“There is a very large blood stain on the floor of your storeroom,” said Quynh. Gone was the chipper woman from earlier, menace and strength dripped from her words. “Since you sell vegetables, I imagine there’s a story there. Care to tell it?”

“You went into my storeroom?” he asked indignantly. I pulled my sword from its scabbard and he watched as I gripped it in two hands and pointed it to his neck. It hovered dangerously close to the skin. He gulped.

“Answer her question,” I said.

“I knew this would happen.” He cast his glance up as if looking for strength and then looked back to my sword. To Quynh, he said, “This is about Li, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps,” she said. “Did Li bring a man here yesterday? Wrapped in a rug?”

“Yes,” he said. “But I had nothing to do with it – I told them to get out as soon as I saw -”

“Where did they take him?” she interrupted.

“I…I’m sorry to say that he was dead, when they left.”

My stomach dropped at his words, but Quynh didn’t take her eyes from the man.

“Where did they take him?” she asked again.

“They mentioned someone named Huang.” _Huang…the man you’ve been following. Perhaps Andromache was right – this was because we’d been seen taking the gun._ “I think they took the man to Huang’s. They work for him. But I swear I know nothing beyond that.”

I looked over at Quynh and Andromache. “I believe I know where he is.”

They nodded, and the man sighed with visible relief as we put away our weapons. He eyed Andromache warily as she walked casually up to him. “Thank you for your assistance,” she said with a smile, and she slowly pulled a small knife from her belt. They were of the same height, so the man barely had time to register her movements before he crumbled to the floor. She’d hit him with the handle of the knife at just the right spot at the back of his head.

She looked at my shocked expression and smirked. “That's one of my more honed skills,” she said.

“Apparently,” I responded. “Will you teach me?”

“When all of this is over?" She laughed lightly. "Yes, Nicolo, I’ll teach you. You and Yusuf both have a lot to learn.”

We left the shop and the man breathing lightly on the ground.

* * *

As we hurried to Huang’s home, I filled them in on what I knew of the man, which really was not much. I knew that he was a man of science, that he stuck to a schedule, that he seemed decent enough, that we’d stolen a gun from him, and that we’d been trying to steal another weapon when the explosion had occurred. Yusuf and I had assumed that Huang died in that explosion too, but perhaps we were incorrect in that assumption.

“Do you know if he has much security?” asked Andromache, as she skirted around a slow moving man.

“He has none that I’m aware of. We only ever saw him going in and out of where he worked. I have no idea who these two men could be.” We were almost at Huang’s. My heart began to pound nervously. I sent up a quick prayer to God that we’d find Yusuf here. He’d been gone for less than a day; surely nothing too horrible had happened to him in that time.

“Based on what we’ve seen so far, I think this is going to be an easy fight. Two bumbling idiots and a scientist.” Quynh said this with a smile aimed at me. I knew that she meant to reassure. It worked. The two women seemed outrageously competent; if we were facing an army I would feel confident with them at my back. _Two bumbling idiots and a scientist_. When she put it that way, it seemed the easiest thing in the world, to get Yusuf back.

Andromache narrowed her eyes as if thinking. “I think I agree with you Quynh,” she finally said. We were around the corner from he entrance to his home. She peeked around to the front but saw nothing. She turned back to us and then spoke directly to me.

“I’ll go in first. This is his house, so spare any women, children – anyone who looks like a servant. I’m assuming he doesn’t often kidnap people and stash them in his house – and that he doesn’t want his family to know about that – so we’ll be looking for a room that’s removed from the living areas. Best guess: He’s in a cellar, so keep an eye out for doors on the ground. Got it?”

“Yes,” I said.

“All right then,” she smiled briefly at me and then grabbed her axe from her back. “Let’s go get your man.”


	39. Chapter 39

**Yusuf**

Huang did not start with my arm, praise be to the God I hardly believed in anymore. After his dire proclamation, after my heart began to beat jackrabbit fast in my chest and my hands to shake, he had said, “But, of course, we will not be able to do that here.”

The relief was so overwhelming I felt almost nauseous with it. Besides the pain that particular proposal promised, I had no idea what would happen if I lost a limb. My body had always knitted itself back together using pre-existing flesh and tissue. If a limb was gone… I did not know what would happen, and I certainly didn’t wish to find out. Thoughts of escape became ever more pressing.

Huang sigh was tinged with something like regret. “I know there’s no way that removing an arm won’t hurt you, my unnamed friend, but I find that I have to know what happens. If it helps, I’m hoping that I can learn more about these powers of regeneration to help other people.”

“That doesn’t help,” I respond, as calmly as possible. “Why would you think that would help?”

“It would help me, I think.”

“Well, hand me a knife and we’ll find out.”

Huang laughed easily. “Very funny! Even with the poppy in your system. Do you still feel its influence, by the way? I want to make sure you’re being dosed appropriately. Don’t want to make another mistake like we did earlier!” He clapped me on the shoulder and smiled as if sharing an old joke between friends: _ha, remember that time I accidentally killed you? What a lark._

In point of fact, I did not feel it anymore, and if I _had_ to be tortured, I’d prefer to have the pain dulled. Of course, if I were under the influence, it would be harder to get out. Escape took precedence, however much I might regret the pain in the future.

“I feel it still,” I lied.

“Good.” He quickly stood from his crouched position and asked one of the other guards to get me more tea, and – wonders – food. At the door he stopped and turned. I braced myself. “Are there any dietary restrictions we should be aware of?” he asked.

My face must have showed my bafflement at the question because he laughed and said, “I am a man of the world. Do you keep halal?”

“Not anymore,” I said, the truth slipping out in my surprise.

“Oh? Why is that, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“I do mind you asking,” I responded, and he again laughed easily.

“Fair enough! Fair enough. I'll let you have your secrets.” He opened the door and let Li out ahead of him. “I’ll see about getting you moved somewhere more comfortable tomorrow. I’ll be out for the rest of the evening, but I’ll see you in the morning. Good evening.” He said all of this as if he had not just ripped out a tooth, was contemplating cutting off my arm, and did not currently have me tied to a cot. He bowed, and left the room.

Qiu stepped forward and once again tied the gag to my mouth. As we waited for Li to come back from procuring food and drink, my mind whirred with possibilities for escape. I needed to get out for two very important reasons: The first was that Nico would no doubt be frantic, and I needed to get back to him. The second was less romantic and more practical; I _truly_ did not want to lose my arm. Or anything else. So far the pain I’d experienced had been minimal – most people had a tooth or two extracted before their fifty second year - the fact that I never had was sheer luck. But I did not wish to test that luck any longer. So. How to escape? I would have to relieve my bladder eventually. Perhaps I could appeal to my oddly courteous captor to grant me some manner of dignity and release my hands? Or just one hand at the very least.

Li re-entered the room with a dark wood tray, on which was a tea set and some strips of dried beef. _Would they have brought you something else if you had told him you kept halal?_ I wondered absently. 

He set the tray down on the ground and picked up some of the meat before walking over to me. He stopped, and said, “Do not bite me,” very seriously. I almost laughed. Would telling a dog not to bite you make it reconsider? But of course I knew the old idiom, and I was very hungry.

He fed me a piece of the meat – an extremely intimate moment I liked not one bit – and then poured some tea. I eyed it critically as he brought it to my lips.

“It’s only tea,” he assured me. I considered my options, which were only two. Drink, or not? Huang seemed to only want me drugged when he wished to 'test' my abilities, and he had said that he would be gone for the day. Oddly, he'd never lied before. And besides, the meat had been overly salty. I decided to believe him and drank it. Li brought some more meat, and another cup of tea. After I finished the last dregs of the second cup, he tilted his head and said, “I lied, by the way.”

The sharp edges of the world began to soften, and I thought, _you really must start learning from your mistakes,_ before drifting off.

* * *

The grass undulated above us in waves; so tall and thick as to hide us where we lay. The yellow of the grass caused Nico’s eyes to change their shade to something more like green, and when those eyes looked into my own I shivered with delight from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. He was atop me, dripping kisses and moans into my mouth, and I was stitched up with desire; I could not move without tearing. My hands wished to draw through his hair and to stroke along the muscles of his back but they could not move. I was tied down, utterly at his mercy. He whispered my name against my ear, but it seemed to come from far away.

“Yusuf,” he said again, but the tone was wrong, he sounded concerned. _Please keep kissing me_ , I thought, or said, perhaps. No way of knowing.

“Yusuf, can you walk?” _Since I was just a babe,_ I thought.

I felt a sharp pinch at my wrist and looked down to where my hands were tied. Tied to a cot. Tied to a cot in Huang’s home. I looked up and saw the wide, concerned eyes of my beloved staring down at me. He had a smear of blood on his face that reminded me of the madman stepping from the woods at Ashkelon, coming to kill me. I smiled dreamily. 

“Can he walk?” asked someone at the door. What was her name? Quynh, that’s right. Beautiful woman. Smiles easily.

“I think so,” said Nico as he sawed away at the rope around my wrists.

“Well, no time like the present,” the other woman said. Andromache. “Someone will have heard us.”

Nico finished cutting through the rope around my ankles and I immediately felt blood rush into my feet. They’d been far tighter than I’d realized.

To me she said, “Get up” with deadly seriousness.

 _Right_ , I thought. _Easy enough thing to do; standing up._ Nico helped me sit up first, before I swung my legs over the side of the cot. I saw Li crumpled on the ground next to Andromache in a pool of blood. Dead. Red dripped from her double-bladed axe. I supposed that she did the honors.

“I’ve got you,” Nico said, putting his arm under mine.

I caught his gaze, those _eyes_ , and they were shining for me, because he loved me, and he had come to rescue me. I loved this man. I needed to tell him. “You have the most beautiful eyes, Nico, like…like the ocean, or…grass. Like the softest grass.” _Not your best work._

“What did they give you?” he laughed.

It seemed of the utmost importance that I kiss him then, which I leaned in to do -

Andromache grabbed one of my arms. “Up, now. Kiss later.”

I looked back over at Li, who was still dead. Right. We should be escaping. “There’s another guard,” I said thickly. “I liked him even less than that one.”

“Well, maybe we’ll get lucky and he’ll come back so we can kill him,” she said. “Up!”

With more help than I would like to admit to, I was finally able to stand. My legs felt shaky; tired, as if I had run for hours. My mind still felt heavy and fogged; it was a huge effort to focus.

“All right,” she said. “Let’s go.”

* * *

By the time we reached Andromache and Quynh’s room the opium had burned itself through me, so I was far less stupid, but still exhausted. I sat on the bed and watched the two women flying around the room, throwing their belongings into bags.

“We should have done this _before_ we left,” muttered Andromache mutinously.

“It was more important that we find Yusuf, _before_ ,” shot back Quynh as she stuffed a bright red skirt into a bag.

Nico, who was seated next to me, took my hand. I eyed my fingers sliding along his and knew that it – _it,_ as in _everything-_ would be all right. We were together.

“Are you well?” he asked under his breath.

“Better now,” I responded, as I brought our entwined hands to my mouth. I kissed his middle finger.

He laid his forehead against mine and his other hand to my cheek, and for a long moment he held my stare. The look in his eyes told me that he would try to apologize. After a loaded silence, he said, “I am so sorry we weren’t able to get to you sooner-”

I interrupted him with a soft kiss. “Nico, I know that you got there as quickly as you could.”

He pulled in a shuddery breath. “But if they hurt you –“

“They did,” I said, “but it could have been far worse.” I thought of Huang’s threat to cut off my arm to see what would happen. In the grand possibilities of torture, an extracted tooth – while on opium no less – was about as easy as possible. “My captor was oddly solicitous, and I was drugged for most of it. You got to me before anything worse was able to happen. So thank you for saving me.” His hand spasmed against mine. “I love you.” Nico’s eyes shut tight, his face tense with some unreadable emotion. I slid my free hand up into his hair and stroked through the strands, and let him feel whatever it was he was feeling. Relief, fear, gratitude.

I felt a hand at my arm and looked up. Quynh. Her face was one of vast understanding and sympathy. Andromache was standing at the door with her arms crossed, watching us. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but if we're going to retrieve your things we need to do it now. The longer we wait the more likely we’ll run into a problem.”

“Of course,” I said. Nico pulled himself from me with a harsh breath and wiped surreptitiously at some gathering tears. I kissed him quickly, fingertips on his jaw, and we stood. “Lead the way.”

* * *

We were in and out in just a few short minutes - we had so little to retrieve. The entirety of our life here boiled down to just a few possessions: my sketchbooks and sword, a few items of clothing and my disused bedroll and tent. Nico had about the same.

Before I shut the door I stopped and looked behind me at the room, taking in the ornate bed, the little table and chairs, the two windows with their intricately sculptured wooden frames. It seemed that the ghosts of our past selves were everywhere here. Nico kneeling and speaking with God, a defiant look on his face; me sketching him as he slept; our bodies intertwining with one another on the bed, our phantom moans in the air; both of us, standing at the window and looking out across the busy square, his hands wrapped around my chest and his chin resting on my shoulder.

The seeds of love that had been planted along our journey - in Jerusalem, Ashkelon, Baghdad, and Kashgar; in wide open fields and on towering mountains; in tents and around the fire – were finally able to bloom in these four walls; attraction and affection and luck fostered by our tentative hands and time into something much more substantial. Destiny needed a nudge, and it needed room - this room - to grow. I would miss this place.

“Yusuf?” I turned to see Nico looking up inquiringly at me from the base of the stairs. I shut the door behind me.


	40. Chapter 40

**Nicolo**

Throughout that evening and the next morning, Yusuf continued to insist that what had happened to him was somehow insignificant; a barely consequential moment in his life.

“He only took my tooth, love!” he assured me with a smile. “Only a tooth. Who among us can claim they've made it to my advanced age without an extraction?” Ignoring the fact that _I_ had never lost a tooth, I had to begrudgingly agree with him: it could have been far worse, but that did not mean that it was inconsequential. Not to me.

I supposed that for him the experience was not as agonizing as it had been for me; physical pain superseding the mental for him while he’d been captive. The physical pain now gone, I would have thought that the mental pain would linger, but apparently it did not. Or, at the very least, it paled in comparison to my own mental anguish that he had been taken from me. I did not know that it was _only a tooth_. I just knew that he was gone, and my imagination had filled in the rest.

So when Andromache and Quynh proposed, as we packed up our little camp, that we go back to Kaifeng to kill Huang and Qiu, I was both well pleased and not especially surprised that Yusuf did not feel the same need to end their lives. The two women pressed him on it, though; for them it was apparently more a matter of practicality.

“He knows what we are, Yusuf,” explained Andromache flatly. “He can’t live. Neither can the other other one – the guard.”

“Qiu,” said Yusuf, as he strapped his bedroll to his horse. Andromache narrowed her eyes at his response.

“It does not matter what his name is.”

Yusuf sighed against his horse. “I do not –“ he paused as if collecting his thoughts, then turned to the two women. “They’ll die, soon enough, on their own, won’t they? We’ve already left Kaifeng. We could just keep riding away. The chances of their finding us are so small as to be almost impossible.”

Andromache and Quynh shared a glance and some unspoken communication passed between the two of them. I wondered vaguely if Yusuf and I might be like that, someday.

“Your restraint is admirable,” said Quynh. “Truly. Of course violence isn’t always the answer, but in this case… Yusuf, we’ve dealt with this before. _No one_ can know what we are. It could cause complications.”

My mind flashed to the al-Tammars. Best not mention that there was one powerful family in Kaifeng that knew exactly what we were.

“Especially someone like this Huang,” continued Andromache. “He’s important, and apparently not averse to hurting people for his own benefit, or the benefit of whoever he works for. He may never think to look for us again.” Her head tilted as she looked at Yusuf’s face. “Or he might. And us? The four of us? We’re noticeable. If they wanted to find us, they would be able to. And next time, they won’t just take a tooth. You _know_ that, Yusuf.”

He sighed and looked to me. “What do you think, Nico?”

“That we should listen to the wisdom of the millennia between them,” I responded calmly. Then, not so calmly: “I would also like to skewer them for causing you pain.”

He laughed. “Ah, the bloodthirsty warrior reappears. It’s been some time.”

I inclined my head in a mocking bow in lieu of a response. _Only for you_ , I thought.

“All right,” he said, turning to the women. “I defer to your vast knowledge. Death it is.”

* * *

It was simple enough, in the end. I waited in the shadows around the corner from Huang’s home one starless evening and drew a knife across his throat, holding him back to me as he struggled. _Should I feel worse about this?_ I wondered, as Huang gasped for breath. I closed my eyes and saw my beloved’s smiling face. _No,_ I thought. _I don’t believe that I should._ When Huang’s convulsions stopped, I dropped him to the hard packed dirt beneath us and was gone before his blood began to stain the ground.

Qiu was almost as simple to dispatch. Yusuf pointed him out as we walked through a marketplace, and Quynh calmly shot an arrow through his head. We had to run from that one – it was a rather crowded marketplace - but it was easy enough to slip out in the confusion. Andromache lovingly chided Quynh for taking the shot instead of waiting while we ate around the fire that night, and we laughed at Quynh’s indignation.

* * *

I awoke in the dead of night, unsure of the why as I took in the vast expanse of the night sky. I turned to look at Yusuf, who lay flat on his belly with his head propped up on his crossed wrists. He was asleep, but he was muttering to himself. I found myself utterly charmed by this revelation – I had never heard him talking in his sleep before.

“Yusuf,” I whispered, mindful of the women asleep on the other side of the embers.

He stayed asleep. “Yusuf.” Nothing. I turned to my side to trace his cheek and jaw, his dark eyebrows above rapidly shifting eyes. The soft touches eventually roused him, and his eyes opened, taking in my gaze. He smiled sleepily.

“Hello,” he said.

I smiled back. “Hello. You were talking in your sleep.”

He smiled wider. “Did I say anything interesting?”

“Not that I could hear.”

“Mmm,” he hummed. “That is too bad. I was having a _lovely_ dream.” The emphasis on _lovely_ and the glint in his eyes told me exactly what kind of a dream it had been. His gaze stayed on mine as he watched comprehension dawn. We hadn’t had any privacy for days and days, between tracking down Huang and Qiu and being on the road with our new companions. But now those new companions were asleep.

“Kiss me,” I said. Cupping his jaw, I drew him close.

“Andromache and Quynh…” he protested weakly.

“We’ll be quiet,” I responded.

My mouth was soft against my own, becoming bolder once he opened his lips on a soft moan. I felt his quick hunger – perhaps compounded by whatever memories lingered from the dream – in his kiss, saw it peering out from heavy lids, heard it rouse when I slipped my hands into his hair and deepened the kiss with my tongue. A year ago – only a year ago – I would have found it impossible to think I could kiss him in this way, but now it was as natural as breathing. A shiver moved through me at the thought, leaving warmth in its wake. I could have lost this.

“You make me weak,” I whispered against his lips.

“Do I?” he responded with a smirk.

“You know you do.” I rolled us over so that I gazed down at him. He looked unbearably beautiful in the light from the moon and the bright stars; each curl of his dark hair thrown into relief, the lines on his forehead and in the creases of his eyes the most wonderful things I had ever seen. I had almost lost him. Without another word I reached down between us to work the clothes off his legs. He raised his hips to help me and I heard his breathing come shallower as I lowered to my elbow and hip above his thighs and cock. He was already hard, but not yet fully so. I stroked him, drawing my fingertips down and over the soft skin of his balls, to the patch of skin between his legs. I applied pressure there, and felt his hands begin to stroke in my hair. When I looked up at him, he was already looking down at me and the expression on his face was one instantly recognizable in the soft moonlight: love.

This was almost taken from me. This man, and his profound love – as perfect as God’s, as vital as air – if this left me, if _he_ left me, the world would continue on but I would not. I _knew_ that now, and what a profoundly terrifying realization it was. I held his hip tighter. He still looked down at me.

Long forgotten scripture entered my mind and my voice floated up quietly into the night air. “Where you die, I will die, and there I will be buried.” _The Lord do so to me, and more also, if anything but death parts you from me_ , I thought, but did not say.

He sucked in a shaky breath and was about to respond but swallowed whatever was on his tongue when I put my own to the tip of his cock. I closed my lips around the line that separated the head from the shaft and stayed there for a moment, sucking gently, breathing in his scent that mingled with the grass and the warm air and my own. I wanted to do everything to this man – kiss him, lick him, fuck him, serve him, command him. But we had centuries and centuries for that. For now, there was his cock in my mouth, so I sank further down and felt his hands in my hair gathering into fists. I took him in again and again with deep pulls, breathing through my nose, wanting to make him wild – making myself wild, until I panted with lust and the effort. Serving him, but commanding him to feel pleasure at the same time. Intoxicating.

I wet my fingers and slid them again between his open legs, circling the hole before slipping gently inside. Against my mouth and fingers I felt every twitch and cut-off moan, the jerking of his muscles under his skin, the pulsing of his blood. I hungered for his climax, imagined – remembered - how good it would feel when he came in my throat, when he floods my mouth with himself. I moaned around his cock and tried to take more down.

“Nico,” he moaned. _Too loud_ , I thought briefly, but was too far gone to really care.

His hands tightened in my hair and my mouth became more aggressive, desperate for him to feel _everything._

“I’m close,” he whispered, pulling on my hair. A shiver went down my spine at the words. “Don’t stop, please, Nico –“ His hips began to shift, driving his cock into my mouth, driving my fingers further inside. I twisted my wrist and found that spot in his body and pressed.

A quivering moan filled the air, moving down my cock, and he pulsed against my lips. I kept my mouth closed and stroked inside and outside, swallowing everything he gave me, until he finally groaned and pushed me away. I kissed all along his skin, up from his navel to his mouth, crawling up until we kissed with a synchronous groan, until we were both breathless.

“You made me see stars,” he whispered, when I finally pulled myself away and collapsed against his chest.

“The stars above us, you mean? They are quite bright this evening.” He chuckled and drew his arm tighter around me. I thought of the first time I saw him, skewered on the end of my sword outside Jerusalem, his dark eyes widening with recognition and betrayal. How things had changed, since then.

“I do not wonder at the stars,” I said against his neck. “Only this.” I felt his sigh and ran my nose up and down the column of his throat. “Only you.”

“Destiny,” he said softly, and laid a kiss against my hair.

“Destiny,” I agreed. 


	41. Epilogue

The farmhouse was abandoned long before Nicolo purchased it, and the intervening centuries were not kind to the structure. The large oak that had towered over the home even when Nico had first seen it had at some point dropped a branch onto the building, partially collapsing two walls, and animals and humans had clearly made use of its safety over the years. Nevertheless, with the sparkling Mediterranean far below where the house stands on the cliff, and the wind carrying the scent of the ocean as it lifts the hair at the back of his neck, Yusuf thinks that it is a charming spot. He puts his hand to the warm stone of one of the still fully standing walls and pieces crumble to dust below his fingers. _Well, perhaps not charming_ , he amends. _Quaint._

Nicolo is inside already, picking his way over ancient furniture and under collapsed beams, poking and prying at various stones around the hearth until a few come loose. Memories flood him then, of his past self frantically preparing for a false death, of digging into the ground with his desperate fears swirling in his mind and his vague hopes still shameful and hidden.

And now here he is, some two hundred years later, his present self in a future that the past wouldn’t have dared to dream of.

Yusuf touches his shoulder, interrupting his thoughts. “There?” He points to where Nico is staring.

Nicolo nods. “Unless it’s been found. It’s been a long time.”

With nothing else needing to be said, they work together to pull up the stones and brush back the dirt on the cellar door below. With a calming breath, Nicolo pulls the hatch open. There, staring back at him, is the portrait of his sister Alessandra, exactly where he had left it.

* * *

For the next few hours, the two men make an inventory of everything Nicolo had stashed away all those years ago. They find a bejeweled hairpin that had belonged to his mother, a few swords, quite a bit of gold, and a piece of rather poor embroidery that makes Nico smile tremulously when he sees it.

“My favorite niece made this for me,” he tells Yusuf softly. He feels tears gathering hot and heavy at the back of his throat. She had wanted to be an author. She’d been dead for at least a century.

Alessandra’s portrait looks on as Yusuf draws him into an embrace. He holds him tight, muttering words of love and understanding as he strokes his fingers through his hair. Nicolo doesn’t look away from his sister’s smiling face as he clutches Yusuf to him.

* * *

They decide to stay in the farmhouse’s threadbare walls that night. They do not light a fire; there is more than enough light pouring through the roof from the moon and stars.

They curl together and Yusuf contemplates Alessandra’s portrait from across the room. She resembles Nicolo somewhat, he thinks, but only slightly, only, perhaps, in the color of the eyes. This style of portrait is not well suited to catching true likenesses, he knows, and he wishes that she had been able to sit for him – he would have been able to capture not just her face, but something of her true self too. He’s heard so much about her over the decades he feels he knows her, somehow. She would have had Nico’s Smile.

_Does he ever regret that he had to leave?_ _Was what he found worth the heartache?_ He knows he shouldn’t consider the passing thoughts, but sometimes – especially when ones past is staring one in the face – it can be difficult not to consider.

Yusuf sighs noiselessly, holding Nicolo tighter.

“Nicolo.” Yusuf whispers this, on the chance that Nico is already asleep.

“Yusuf?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Yusuf wants to ask him as much as he does not want to: it’s a pointless question. As Andromache would tell him – as _he_ would have told himself centuries ago - the past is past. No use worrying. As time has gone on, though, he’s found it harder to ignore. There’s just so much more of it now.

“What are you thinking about?” Nico asks.

A long, heavy pause answers him, then, “Was it worth it?”

“Was what worth it?”

“Leaving her.”

He feels Nico looking over at the portrait.

“Yes.”

He raises their intertwined hands and presses a soft kiss to Yusuf’s knuckles. Long ago they’d come to the conclusion that whatever Nico wished to communicate to Yusuf could be said with touch. They would leave the speeches to the artist.

“Yes, of course,” he finally says. “I love my sister, and I miss her. But what we have is everything I ever dreamed.” He pauses. “I suppose I didn’t even dare dream of what we have. Can one dream of the impossible?”

Yusuf presses a kiss to the back of Nico’s neck at the answer. “And you accuse me of being the romantic.”

“I am just being truthful. I cannot help it if our truth is preposterously romantic.”

Yusuf grins at the answer and gently bites at the back of Nico’s neck. “And what were you thinking of?”

“How strong you are. When you lifted that stone earlier I found myself quite overcome.”

Yusuf huffs out a laugh. “And here I was, wondering if you’d regretted your choices.”

Nico squeezes Yusuf’s hand. “Of course not, Yusuf.” He nudges Yusuf’s shoulder to get him to roll over so that he can drape his arm over his chest. “I love you more than life itself.” He squeezes Yusuf’s ribs and nests their legs together. “More than the sun, and the moon. The stars.” He yawns. “Etcetera.”

Yusuf chuckles. “Poetry,” he says.

Nico _hmmms_ behind him, and Yusuf feels Nico’s arm growing heavy around his waist, feels his breathing change, becoming even and deep.

“Sleep well,” Yusuf whispers, as he has for nearly every night for the past two centuries, and as he hopes to do every night that they are granted the grace to continue on with their miraculous, mundane lives.

_For wherever you go, I will go_ , Yusuf thinks, and follows his beloved into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone and anyone who read this piece. I truly appreciate every single kudos and comment and subscription, and I hope more than anything that you enjoyed reading. These Unprecedented Times are fucking wild, and if this helped a single soul forget that fact for just the tiniest bit of time, I consider myself successful.
> 
> I will absolutely be back with more preposterously romantic and (hopefully, what you find to be) ridiculously sexy scenes from their lives. In fact, I already have some ideas...
> 
> Love you, mean it. Till next time.  
> \--marbletopempire


End file.
